


Campus

by Anonymous



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: ... and plate-flinging, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst and Humor, Background Relationships, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Breakdown, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, but for the most part it's sweet, it's not a soulmate au, so it's only partly angst, the others have their own lives, there are some mentions of smut but it's only alluded to, there's an instance in chapter four of..., they're all in their late twenties, they're going for their doctorates, this was supposed to be angst but everyone is too well-adjusted for that, well just seungmin and changbin, when you fall in love you see colors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 15:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30007077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Changbin's fallen in love with his roommate. This is the end of the world, of course — because despite having known each other and lived together for years, they've been bitter rivals from day one. Love better be worth the struggle, because Changbin isn't going to give up on the colors that come with it any time soon.Seungmin just wants to get through this school year, god damn it. He's got an enormous project to complete for his thesis advisor, and Changbin's sudden interest in him isn't helping him get anything done. After all, he despises the guy — but he's noticing little things about his roommate that make him question how he really feels about Changbin.
Relationships: Kim Seungmin/Seo Changbin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 21
Collections: Sweet & Sour Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> prompt #a114  
> Everyone sees black and white until you fall in love. (POV 1) Person B, fully aware that Person A despises them ever since, starts to see color after an incident with them and will go to any length to make Person A love them back. (POV 2) Person A despises Person B with all their life. Unaware that person B has started to see colors after their incident, Person A struggles to understand why Person B is starting to become an everyday presence in their life.
> 
> thank you to the [sweet & sour fest](https://twitter.com/sweetsourfest) for hosting this fest!! i had such a fun time writing, please enjoy! :D

Like a couple of idiots, Seungmin and Changbin had decided to move in together at the beginning of the school year, despite the fact that they absolutely despised each other. Positively loathed. Absolutely hated. Seungmin would make fun of him for running out of synonyms, but he wasn’t the literature student of the house.

All of their friends thought they were being silly; why live together if you can’t stand each other, right? In all honesty, Changbin didn’t really remember why they hated each other; but the routine of waking up and bothering Seungmin was comfortable, and at least they bothered each other out the door and to their offices at a reasonable time.

Besides, their house was really nice, and they wouldn’t have been able to afford the rent without each other. They’d found it together at the same time, and had decided that they’d rather live together than concede it to the other. Things just worked out like that.

Usually they resolved their arguments in a timely manner. They were both tired doctorate students, they had no time to argue with each other.

Other times, though. It was the little things that got on Changbin’s nerves.

He had wandered down to the kitchen to make some tea for himself, and maybe leave some out to get cold for Seungmin whenever he stumbled into the kitchen himself; a theorem had been giving him a headache, and he needed a nice, peaceful mid-afternoon break. It seemed as if his roommate had meddled in his affairs, however.

_“Kim Seungmin! Where are the goddamn lemons!”_

Changbin liked to make tea with lemon and honey, just because it was nicer that way. Lemons were a big part of that, and Changbin _knew_ that there were supposed to be some in the fruit bowl in their kitchen, and yet they were nowhere to be found.

_“They were moldy! I threw them out!”_

“You little liar! I bought them last week!” Changbin shouted to the house at large. He pouted at the empty fruit bowl, wishing that his stupid lemons would manifest out of thin air, or something.

There was a pause, then the sounds of Seungmin storming down the stairs and to the kitchen. He appeared in the doorway, the perfect picture of rage; Seungmin would find it more poetic than Changbin, but even he appreciated the Harry Potter pyjama pants (at least, he assumed; they had little HPs and lightning bolts patterned on them) and mussed hair; most likely the result of a boring and stressful research paper he was struggling through. Maybe he’d leave some tea out for him, or the heating pad stuffie he used for his shoulders. It was about time he gave that thing back, anyway, Seungmin was getting increasingly frazzled searching for it.

“I threw them out,” Seungmin said, his voice laced with anger, “because they were moldy and _really fucking gross._ You can look in the trashcan for them if you want; I would _love_ to see you root around in the trash for them, actually. Or you could go out and get some more, if you can summon the energy for it. I’m busy reading a terrible old article about literary theory, and it really sucks, so I’d like to get back to it as soon as possible. Leave me alone about your stupid lemons.”

“Love the look,” Changbin said. Seungmin flushed, probably just remembering his fantastic outfit. “Listen. You and I both want this tea; we’re both stressed as hell, and this is the only thing that’s going to make us feel even marginally better. I have been getting us lemons for ages even though we both drink the tea. You owe me some goddamn lemons.”

Seungmin took his spectacles off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He wilted slightly, leaning fully against the doorframe. “It’s like three in the afternoon and I haven’t showered. Everyone at the store is going to think I’m an affront to nature.”

“Everyone already thinks you’re an affront to nature,” Changbin said, though it was a little more light-hearted than he wanted. Seungmin must really be tired. Usually he’d argue Changbin in circles about something like this. “Put on some deodorant and be a man.”

Seungmin groaned, but slunk away back to his room. Changbin fiddled on his phone for the next couple minutes until he shuffled back down, this time wearing jeans and a hoodie. His hair was still ruffled, and behind his glasses, his eyes were swollen with a lack of sleep. “What else do we need other than lemons? I’ll restock, since you can’t be assed.”

“We’re running low on flour and sugar, since Felix visited a week ago… could always use more rice.”

“Mhm.” Seungmin got a cloth bag from the cabinet and swatted at Changbin as he passed by. “Are you using my bread?”

“No.” Changbin did steal a slice or two every so often. It was always a game to see if he’d get away with making his toast in peace. So far, he had been successful.

“Better not be. You know I’ll kill you.”

“Yeah, I’m so sure. Noodle arms.”

This time as Seungmin passed him, he actually punched him. Changbin made a sound he knew was pathetic and whined at him until he left.

“Lazy ass,” Seungmin called over his shoulder as he went through the door. Changbin almost smiled. It felt nearly affectionate.

Changbin did end up leaving a mug for Seungmin to heat up in the microwave in the end. He still hated him, though.

* * *

Seungmin had given him back a sweatshirt that he’d stolen; Changbin was very pleased, though he had to put it through the wash since it had germs on it. He was childish like that.

The two of them had an unspoken give-take relationship that Changbin secretly appreciated; they did live with each other, they couldn’t actively work to destroy each other like they used to. They’d toned it down to thievery and blasting loud music at three in the morning, among other things of the same nature.

For the most part, they just tried to avoid each other as much as they could. Changbin showered in the evening and Seungmin showered in the morning, and they had their areas of the house to study and research in, if they weren’t at the office.

They both left each other alone for dinner. If their friends were over (and they were over a lot), they’d made an effort to pool money and order delivery; other than that, Changbin had control of the kitchen in the early evening, and Seungmin lurked in it later at night. Both of them made an effort to clean up after themselves. Changbin wasn’t going to fall into a lazy roommate stereotype that Seungmin could rip him apart for; rather, he was waiting for Seungmin to slip up and leave a plate or pan or something out so he could bother him about being inconsiderate and sloppy. Seungmin would never stand for it.

They’d worked out their routine in the first semester they’d lived together. It was beneficial for both of them if they just stayed out of each others’ way.

But.

It was eight at night — about Seungmin’s time to inhabit the kitchen — and Changbin wanted a _snack._ He was settling into the living room for the long haul (maybe a true all-nighter, though he’d avoid it if he could) and he needed to stock up on food before he made himself one with the couch. He already had his laptop, laptop charger, Spotify playlist, and fuzzy blanket ready to go; but he wasn’t going to get far without food and water, so.

He just didn’t really want to run into Seungmin. If he did, he’d be expected to be spiteful; and if he wasn’t spiteful (because he wasn’t in the mood for it), Seungmin would ask him if there was anything _wrong_ with him; and if there was anything worse that a Seungmin who actively hated him, it would be a Seungmin that actively _worried_ about him. Not ideal.

But.

On the other hand, snacks. And snacks were always a compelling argument.

With his mind made up, Changbin wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and made his way over to the kitchen, pausing his music as he did so. With it off, he realized that the background noise on the Black Veil Brides album he’d recently rediscovered wasn’t just due to the bass-boosted headphones he’d picked up the other day, but was, in fact, the sound of Seungmin singing to himself in the kitchen.

Oh, _yes._

_“It’s too easy, bad boy down~,”_ Seungmin sang, nearly belting out the words. Seungmin was turned away from him, watching something simmer on the stove and giving it a stir every so often, while listening to songs on his iPod. He took a moment to catch his breath after belting out Red Velvet, silence reigning in the kitchen, before his head shot back up. Changbin could see his smile from where he had crouched by the doorframe. “Oh my god, I love this song. _You know it’s been a long day… I haven’t seen you today… You’re somewhere, I’m sure…”_

Changbin made himself comfortable by the doorframe and watched as Seungmin sang along to the music in his ears. He bopped along to some of the dance moves, focusing on his cooking rather than going all out, but when he sang, _“Say hi, hi, hi, hi, make me say hello”_ he did the wavy things with his hands, and bounced along to the beat. This song was one of Changbin’s own guilty pleasures, and why he would never definitively talk about his music tastes — he just really liked Loona, and cute girl group concepts in general. It came as a surprise that Seungmin liked them too, in all honesty.

_“Take me high, high, high, high, take me even higher…”_

Changbin felt a small flutter of affection.

_“In my dreams, love, love, love, love, make my heart pound and pound — a little bit more, someday — I’ll try hard, oh yeah — it shouldn’t be so easy, love is supposed to be cruel…”_

Seungmin had a wistful smile on his face. That much Changbin could make out from where he was lurking.

The wistful smile remained as he hummed the rest of the song, gently mimicking the dance as the pan sizzled. Changbin sighed quietly, almost surprised at the fondness he felt watching Seungmin like this. They were never vulnerable around each other. If Seungmin knew he was lurking, watching him in a state like this — well, he didn’t know what he would _do,_ but he would hardly be happy about it.

It was nice, to see Seungmin like this. Changbin wouldn’t mind seeing Seungmin be sweet and vulnerable on purpose.

The moment that thought registered in his mind, Changbin felt his heart seize in his chest. He gasped and ducked back behind the wall, clutching his shirt to his pounding chest; something in his head and heart squeezed unrelentingly, making his eyes screw shut as if bracing for pain, and released in an instant. He nearly collapsed in a heap on the floor.

After taking stock with himself — he was fine, just startled about what had just happened, it hadn’t even hurt — his eyes blinked open.

Oh, god. Had those colors always been there?

Oh.

_Oh._

He was in love with Seungmin.

* * *

Basically, how it works was that people who are in (romantic, or otherwise intensely deep) love see colors. Everyone else doesn’t. Changbin liked to define things in all-or-nothing ways — that was how the world made sense to him, so it made sense that he was in _romantic_ love instead of just a really intense platonic kind of love with Seungmin. It had to be romantic.

They did a study once, just to make it official. Most kids see colors when they’re very, very young, because they love their parents and are in love with the fresh new world in which they’ve found themselves. The colors fade as they grow up — Changbin remembered losing his around seven, while the average age was five or six. Parents who were distraught about the results were reassured that their children still loved them, just not as intensely, probably. Some instinct or neurochemical turned off the color receptors in the eyeballs when humans become mature enough to seek love from people other than their family.

It wasn’t a soulmate kind of thing. No pre-determined destiny — just love.

Changbin, personally, had never really been in love before. There were a few moments in high school where he got into relationships and only halfway expected the colors to show up — they hadn’t — and one serious relationship with a girl while he was still an undergraduate that had given him colors and then taken them away rather cruelly. Seungmin had never talked about his past relationships or experiences with color, but all of their mutual friends were disgustingly in love and often helped them with slideshow presentations and outfit coordination.

It just didn’t make any sense. Changbin and Seungmin hated each other — always had and always will. It was a fact of nature, like how caterpillars turned into butterflies and how raspberries went moldy two seconds after buying them and putting them in the fridge. Their friend group didn’t exactly take them seriously, sure, and they lived together in domestic bliss, sure, but they still genuinely hated each others guts.

And yet there the colors were. Somehow, Changbin’s hatred had turned to affection without him noticing. The worst part was that Changbin couldn’t find it in himself to be mad about it — despite everything, he was still in the blushy stage of first realizing he’s in love, thinking obsessively about Seungmin. God dammit.

With his paper mostly finished at two in the morning (despite Seungmin’s distracting presence running through his mind, singing along with every Loona song that came on his playlist), he decided it was time for a break. He pulled out his phone and texted the worst person he could think of to ask for advice: Han Jisung.

* * *

**Changbin:** disclaimer, before i say anything

you are not allowed to use this information on your youtube channel and if i catch wind of you doing so your death with be broadcast to all seven of your subscribers

**Jisung:** you mean seven hundred thousand but okay continue

**Changbin:** so i might be in love with seungmin

**Jisung:** no promises tho

OH OKAY?? GOOD TO KNOW

**Changbin:** WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO PROMISES THO YOU BETTER PROMISE

**Jisung:** HAHAHAHAHA NOOOOOOOOO

OMG THIS IS SO GOOD

DONT YOU GUYS HATE EACH OTHER???? OMGGGG

**Changbin:** HAN JISUNG I MEAN IT

srsly bro i’m losing my mind DONT

**Jisung:** ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh h h h h

ok ok i will not

ok but tell me everything

**Changbin:** that’s. that’s the thing

i have no idea wtf happened

I HAVE COLORS??? BUT IT FEELS LIKE THE UNIVERSE GLITCHED

BUT ALSO I KINDA DO LIKE HIM A LITTLE BIT

ONLY A SMIDGE

**Jisung:** AHHHHH BROOOOO

YOU HAVE A CRUUUUUUUUUUSH

**Changbin:** shut the FUCk uuuuuuuuuuuuup

**Jisung:** you can deny it no longer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

you and seungmin are meant to be~~~~

**Changbin:** stop with the tildes i hate you

**Jisung:** ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ok ok. oh man bro

you liiiiike suengmiiiiiiin

**Changbin:** perhaps.

**Jisung:** you’re in looooove with seungmiiiiiiiiin

**Changbin:** ,,,,, perhapssssss,,,

ok but what do i do about it

**Jisung:** tell him

or suffer in silence for the rest of ur life idc

**Changbin:** god you are the least helpful person ever i shoulda texted chan

**Jisung:** he’d give u some sappy advice about a grand confession with like flowers and chocolate and shit

i’m giving it to you straight

you *could* spend the rest of your life pining after him while you fruitlessly endeavor to fall out of love with him

orrrrr you could man up and just tell him

be casual about it tho

if he doesnt take it well he’ll throw a slipper at u or something

he would totally do that. he’s a menace with his house slippers this is why i never insult him in his own home

if he didnt wield those things with deadly force i totally would tho

**Changbin:** i’m gonna tell him u said that

**Jisung:** god no pls dont

ok ok ok anyway back 2 the point

can i tell the others????

**Changbin:** u just wanna spread gossip at my expense

**Jisung:** when do i, or in truth any of us, ever do something that *isnt* at ur expense

**Changbin:** fair point.

idk, dont tell anyone yet

with my luck it’ll get back to seungmin before i have a chance to tell him

tbh before i gather the guts to tell him

ㅠㅠ

**Jisung:** alright. i’ll keep ur secrets

**Changbin:** ok. appreciated, i guess

**Jisung:** but so what r u gonna do????

**Changbin:** good question.

get closer to him?? i guess??

see if this was just a weird fluke or if i actually do (eugh) like the man

god pls let it be a fluke. pls, god

@god i know u hate me, buT,,, JUST THIS ONCE,,,,,, BRO PLS,,,,,,,,,

**Jisung:** lol keep crying maybe he’ll hear u

* * *

Changbin put his phone down with a sigh and swooned into the couch. This was going to be difficult.

* * *

The next day, with his paper completed (except for the conclusion but he didn’t want to talk about that, it was just the conclusion, he’d be able to finish it later maybe probably), Changbin set about making a plan to get closer to Seungmin. Half of him was certain that Seungmin would just punch him in the gut and leave him to rot, but it was worth a shot.

So he made coffee for the two of them the next morning, and when Seungmin eventually wandered down to see if he could sneak some, Changbin greeted him with an extra cup and a smile.

“Good morning!” he said, feeling rather chipper.

Seungmin stared at him as if he had grown an extra head. He slowly took the offered coffee cup and sat down at the far end of the counter. “Did you poison this?”

“What? No, of course not,” Changbin said, taking a sip of his own.

“Are you… sure?”

“Yes?” Changbin raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you going to say no to free coffee?”

Seungmin shrugged. “I suppose not.” He gingerly tasted it, then added another spoonful of sugar and milk. “Do you… want something? Are you trying to bribe me? Is this a bribe?”

“It’s not a bribe,” Changbin said. “We’re just two guys having coffee together. I just thought I’d do something nice for you; we’re roommates, after all.”

“That’s fucking weird.”

“No it’s not.”

“It _is._ It’s not — we don’t _do_ nice things for each other,” Seungmin said, his brow furrowing over his mug. “So this is either an attempt to poison me, or to bribe me, and I haven’t figured out which yet.”

“But… if you think it could be poison, why are you still drinking it?”

“Free coffee.”

A blood vessel under Changbin’s eye twitched. “Well, it’s neither. I just felt like being kind for once; a sentiment you obviously lack.”

“I can be _nice,_ you jackass; you’ve just never given me a reason to be nice to _you.”_

“Maybe you can consider this a reason, then.”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow at him in disdain. Changbin didn’t know why; that felt like a good point to him.

“Or not, I guess,” Changbin said, feeling rather put out. He gathered up his pride and dignity, wrapped them around himself like some sort of protective armor, and stood up from the table. “I hope you enjoy your coffee, Seungmin. Sometimes I wish we were better friends; other times, like now, I wonder why I even bother. You seem like a decent guy, as far as assholes go.”

Changbin grabbed his cup of coffee — still half full — and stormed out of the kitchen. With anger blinding him, he made his way by memory up to his room on the top floor, set his cup on his desk, and flopped onto his bed.

Then he muffled a scream into his pillow.

It would be fine to just spend the rest of forever buried in his bed, probably. Other people were too hard. Other people drank the coffee he made them and didn’t even thank him. Other people didn’t like him, and _he_ didn’t like _them,_ and if he stayed in bed for the rest of forever then he wouldn’t have to deal with it.

Alright, maybe that was a little dramatic. But if he was not dramatic, at least a little bit, then he would probably fucking die, or something.

Changbin gathered his pillow into a little bunch with his face still buried in it, and like that, got up and paced about his room. There were, technically, things he had to do today, but he could spare a few minutes to spiral about how stupid all this was and how much he regretted falling in love with _Kim Seungmin,_ of all people, _really._

He kicked (gently) at his desk chair in frustration, then took his pillow away to check if he had actually damaged it. Luckily, it was fine; but after a second of staring at it in puzzlement, Changbin had to stifle a gasp.

It was colorless.

Or, at least, very faded. Changbin whipped his head around, taking in the rest of his room; there were still some splashes of bright, intense color (like the red on his band posters, or the dark blue of his bedspread), but things were fading, and they were fading _fast._

“Fuck,” Changbin said, the word fully rounded, coming from a place deep in his chest.

What did he even _like_ about Seungmin?

Was any of him even _worth_ liking? Sure, he looked stunningly handsome; yes, he was cute and sweet when Changbin wasn’t looking; and alright, he and Changbin had the same tastes, the same friends, the same kind of drive to succeed… but just because Seungmin was easy on the eyes didn’t mean that Changbin had to be _in love_ with him.

Well. Changbin didn’t want to lose colors — and if he had to be in love with Seungmin for them, then that was how it would have to be.

He wished, in a vague way, that he was more like Hyunjin. Hyunjin could see colors, even when he was in love with no one in particular; he just loved the world as a whole, and all the people in it. Very Pisces of him, as Minho liked to say.

But as much as he wished otherwise, Changbin wasn’t like that. He had to love someone, and now, he had to love Seungmin.

He closed his eyes and focused. The memory he first thought of was fresh — Seungmin in the kitchen, smiling and dancing to cutesy girl group concepts — but other memories ran through his mind that reminded him these feelings rarely ever come without good reason.

Seungmin lying on the couch in their living room, asleep, dead to the world, and Changbin’s thought — _he looks cold, where are our blankets?_ — “Oranges are in season, here, have half,” and a peeled slice pressed into his palm — night falling, and saying, “Good night, Seungmin-ah,” and hearing, after a while, a faint “Good night, Changbin-hyung, sleep well” and the pride of being Seungmin’s hyung, despite everything.

It was impossible to live with someone and not begin to know them. And, for Changbin, it was impossible to know someone and not love them. Every once-full mug Changbin found, every piece of clothing he swiped because Seungmin was tall and Changbin was broad and somehow they both managed to fit into the same size shirt, every time Seungmin played his music too loud in the shower and Changbin couldn’t find it in himself to tell him to lower it because Seungmin had a voice that was worth listening to — those were the things Changbin loved about Seungmin.

He breathed in, and out, and cracked his eyes open again to see his room filled once more with vibrant color. Relief flooded every inch of him, and Changbin sank into his desk chair, staring blankly at his colorful notes and books and binders.

Changbin would love Seungmin. And, he decided, because he did nothing half-assed, he would try to make Seungmin love him back.


	2. Chapter 2

Seungmin remembered exactly why he hated Changbin so much.

In his second year and Changbin’s third of their undergraduate programs, there had been a filing error, and Changbin was assigned to a class with a bunch of crummy literature majors — _Realism and the Novel,_ Seungmin hadn’t really liked it either — and had despised it. Loathed it. Utterly and completely hated it. The school hadn’t been able to switch him out before it was moot point, and Changbin had made it his mission to make sure no one learned a damn thing in class. Usually in lectures it was alright; there were a good fifty or so of them, and Changbin saved his purposefully inane questions for later in the hour. But Seungmin had him for the assigned tutorials as well, where he ate up class time by ridiculing them for not knowing anything about maths (his chosen course of study) and distracting the poor TAs thoroughly.

Jokes on him. _They_ were the TAs now, and Seungmin knew for a _fact_ that Changbin hated off-topic questions.

Seungmin also knew that Changbin returned his feelings of animosity, so it came as a surprise when Changbin started to… hang out with him. Going as far as to show interest in what he was doing.

It was weird.

Apparently, insulting the coffee he had made for them wasn’t enough to deter him (it wasn’t actually bad, or poisoned, luckily), seeing as how Changbin began to follow him around the house and bother him about what he was doing. He didn’t even do anything _interesting._ It was just laundry, research, schoolwork, and distracting himself on his laptop.

“What are you doing,” Changbin asked from where he was watching Seungmin fuck around on his computer from the other end of the couch.

Seungmin didn’t look up from his computer screen. “Watching OK GO music videos.”

“Oh, nice. Let me see.”

Things like this.

Seungmin had tried to snap at Changbin, to get the other to leave him alone, but that just resulted in a truly revolting set of puppy dog eyes. Two times of that was enough; Seungmin wasn’t actually willing to pour bleach on his own eyes, so if he at least ignored Changbin’s entire existence, he wouldn’t have to deal with his pathetic attempts at pouting. It was distracting at best, but in all honesty, Seungmin didn’t do that much to be distracted from.

Except for grade papers. And, to be perfectly clear, there were a _lot_ of fucking papers to grade.

Seungmin’s advisor was known to be a complete hardass. The reputation was so bad that people came up and literally gave him their condolences when they heard he was her newest graduate student a year ago (even though Seungmin had specifically requested her, which he didn’t mention, finding the situation amusing). She gave too much work and had Seungmin grade it all, sure, but she also had a bitchin’ personal library, and a higher percentage of students who lead successful careers than the other professors in the literature department. So even though she gave him a boatload of papers to grade each week, she had him on the right track.

Still, more often than not, Seungmin had to convince himself not to throw his red pens and stacks of papers through the window. And not just because Changbin had taken up sitting in the same room as him — even his bedroom!

Even now, Seungmin held a pen with both of his hands, mildly contemplating snapping the thing in half. The only reason he didn’t was because that would get ink all over the paper, and he didn’t want to have to ask the poor undergrad for another copy if he could help it.

Thinking that he would probably get more work done in the office than at home, if only for his advisor breathing down his neck and making him unable to slack off, Seungmin packed up his things and called out to the house at large, “I’m going to the office!”

Changbin poked his head into the room — the dining room, Seungmin belatedly noticed, he had a habit of wandering around the house and finding himself in odd places — with a mopey expression already on his face. Seungmin had to resist the urge to roll his eyes, then decided he didn’t care to resist. “Right now? Why?”

“Why do you think?” Seungmin asked. “For work. Obviously. Why else would I go to the office?”

“I thought you might have had a presentation due, or something,” Changbin said, trailing after Seungmin as he went and got his jacket and shoes. “But you usually tell me about those things.”

That wasn’t true. Seungmin vented about his presentations to thin air, in the privacy of his own house, and Changbin was unfortunate enough to be around while Seungmin was yelling, most of the time.

“Are you stressed? I could make you some tea or coffee, if you want,” Changbin continued. “Although, too much caffeine can be bad for you… I was going to start cutting coffee from my diet next week. If you’re too stressed, you should do the same…” Seungmin let him babble on as he slid his shoes on in the entryway. As distracted as Changbin was with his own words, he didn’t notice they were standing in the front garden until Seungmin wrestled his bike from the shed. Then, he trailed off.

Seungmin gripped the handles of the bike, and gave Changbin one last look before getting ready to ride off. “Hyung,” he said, “no one cares. But if you throw out my coffee, I’m going to strangle you in your sleep.”

Changbin was blessedly silent, and Seungmin opened the front gate and was off. He heard a faint, “Alright, bye, Seungminnie,” but didn’t acknowledge it in any way.

Alright.

Okay.

Maybe he was being a bit mean.

Changbin was actually making an effort here — Seungmin could see that, clear as day. For some crazy reason, Changbin was trying to show Seungmin that he _cared._ And yeah! Seungmin could actually see it! His sweaters were being returned to him already washed, there were more cups of lemon tea and lemon water (and lemons in general, to be honest, since a tree in the neighborhood had finally began to produce fruit and their neighbor was giving out lemons hand over fist), there were those strange attempts at _conversation_ and everything else that Seungmin just didn’t get. They did just fine cohabiting! Wasn’t that enough? Didn’t that push the boundaries of their relationship enough?

They used to be proper rivals, for goodness sake! Their animosity was the stuff of legend, at least in the Literature and Mathematics departments; their friends used to have to schedule around their pranks and attacks and other acts of mischief. (Seungmin had found out about the others planning around their antics and started using that to his advantage; then Changbin had caught on, and at that point their friends looked close to giving up on them entirely.) Now that they lived together, the fangs had gone out of their bites. It was one thing to prank Changbin when he was still squeezed into a two-bedroom flat with Chan and Jisung, when they all shared shampoo bottles and could laugh off having surprise orange hair after their showers; it was another thing entirely when his and Changbin’s rooms shared a hallway, in a house they owned together. For one, Seungmin couldn’t do anything property-destroying; not that he would, but he couldn’t even make a mess anymore unless he wanted to clean it all up himself. For another — and it was fine to call him soft, he grumbled about it himself often enough, to their friends’ chagrin — it was different when Changbin was _there,_ sulking for hours after a particularly mean-spirited prank scared him more than Seungmin thought it would. He felt _bad._

Eugh.

So they weren’t proper rivals anymore, but that didn’t mean that Seungmin had to like the guy. Besides, Changbin had pulled plenty awful tricks in their day _(in their day,_ he scoffed, as if they were ninety years old and telling these stories to their _grandkids),_ so it wasn’t as if this was a one-sided animosity.

Except now it was. One-sided. Apparently overnight, Changbin had completely forgotten why they were rivals to begin with, and now engaged with Seungmin as if they were the best of friends. As if Seungmin cared what he had to say, which he _didn’t,_ thanks very much.

Like he said, Changbin was making an effort. It was just that Seungmin didn’t know if he wanted to make an effort back.

They’d met in that _Realism and the Novel_ class, all those years before. Their friend groups had merged, getting along famously, and now they had an honest-to-god squad (posse? crew? entourage? pile of associates? male escort business? whatever) that got together whenever they could to drink themselves to death and also sometimes watch movies. And to gossip. Forget the rivalry; the _gossip_ was the best legend to come out of their college days.

So, anyway, they’d gotten off on the wrong foot. Apparently, Changbin _did_ have a good side; it was just… extremely well hidden and Seungmin never bothered to search it out. Except now Changbin was making it a point to show off his good side to Seungmin.

He’d never been told that Changbin’s good side was also his incredibly annoying side. More than one of their friends would pout at him for saying that — okay, just Felix and Hyunjin and maybe Chan if he didn’t raise his eyebrows in that dangerous way instead — but really, try living with _that_ all hours of the day.

Seungmin didn’t get paid enough for this.

But he did get paid (kind of) to grade papers, and as he biked onto campus, he forced himself to focus on school and the pile of essays waiting to be marked all over with his favorite red pens. Changbin (and all of their friends, but especially Changbin) had teased him relentlessly about having a _favorite set of pens,_ but really, the glide was just so good.

There was a time he remembered, when Changbin had found him sighing over one of the pens whose ink had run dry. Changbin had laughed so hard he had to sit and catch his breath; and Seungmin couldn’t help it, he had laughed too, because really what kind of total dork gets sad over a _pen?_

He laughed again at the memory, a soft, fond little thing that went unnoticed. Good, because it was embarrassing and weird to be laughing at nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing. It was — dare he say — a good memory.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize he had forgotten his earbuds at the house until he sat down at his desk and unpacked his work.

Seungmin put his head in his hands and gave a wordless scream.

* * *

“Kim Seungmin,” his advisor said in lieu of greeting. She stalked behind his desk and peered at the papers. This was the first time she’d come over since he had arrived a couple hours ago, and Seungmin straightened, hoping to hear good news. “How are things coming along?”

“Hi, Mrs Bak,” he said. “I’ve got about ten things left to grade, so I’ll finish by five; then I was going to do some more research for my thesis, since there’s a point I want to make that I haven’t found good secondary support for… there’s not a lot of criticism on modern, young adult books like this, you know, so even if I wasn’t looking for sources specific to _Battle Royale_ I don’t think I’d find much.”

Mrs Bak hummed, still looking over his shoulder. “Don’t stress about finding too many sources, Seungmin, you have a few years yet to build up your case. When you have a spare moment, come to my office. There’s something I want to discuss with you.”

More than one eavesdropper slid wide eyes at him, and Seungmin felt his heart swoop to the bottom of his stomach. “I — I’m free now?” His voice cracked at the end of the sentence, and he winced.

“Finish Ms Jung’s paper then, and come in. Ten minutes.”

She walked off without another word. Half the office made no attempt to hide their blatant ogling as she shut her office door behind her, and then, as one, turned to look at Seungmin.

He put his head in his hands. Great.

Ten minutes later, with the most rushed grading job he’d ever allowed himself to undertake, he knocked on Mrs Bak’s door and waited until she said, somewhat distractedly, “Come in!”

He nudged the door open, finding her on the phone. She gave him a raised finger, the universal symbol to wait, and he sat down at her desk and waited for her to finish.

“Yes, I do expect to see that by Friday afternoon, thank you. I don’t know if I’ll have enough… Great, that’s exactly what I want. If push comes to shove. Right. Listen, I have one of them here with me — you’re insane. No, you are. I have to let you go, I want the list by Friday, and if it’s not in my inbox I’ll rain holy hell on you and your entire department. Alright. Bye.”

She hung up and sighed heavily, her eyes resting on Seungmin as she straightened again. It wasn’t as if Seungmin had been trying to listen in, but there wasn’t anything else to focus on, and she had been talking about him (presumably), so.

“We’re going to get lots of new students next year,” she said in lieu of greeting. “They’ll need more guidance than we’re capable of giving. Seungmin, I have a favor to ask of you.”

Alright. That was extremely unexpected — Mrs Bak never, _ever_ asked for favors. “Of course.”

“You and Lee Wonil are the only post graduate students I have that aren’t in their last two years, who need to focus on their final dissertations. I need to monitor them so that they don’t lose their minds entirely, but that means I won’t have the time to take care of the incoming freshman and study-abroad students. I want to ask if you would, with Wonil’s help, take care of processing the incoming students and scheduling them. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure you could handle it, and I’ll lay off on the essays as well, if that helps.”

Oh, god, no.

First off — Lee Wonil was in his first year as a postgraduate, and was, frankly, scared shitless. He had only gotten Mrs Bak as his advisor because everyone else was already full, and Seungmin was sure he had never looked her in the eyes even once. He had tried to bribe Seungmin to give Mrs Bak his assignments as well as his own, which Seungmin (and everyone else under Mrs Bak’s iron rule) had politely declined. It would build character, but in the interim, he was entirely useless.

Second of all — though Mrs Bak struck fear in the hearts of every postgrad, there was only one thing that got her truly, irreversibly, _wildly_ frazzled and upset. Predictably, that was processing, scheduling, and teaching the incoming freshman (and other undergraduate) students. The necessary lists were always late, there were never enough postgrads to tutor that huge amount of students, everyone was always busy and they _always_ had a million emails with impossible questions. Never enough rooms, never enough people, never enough hours in the day. Of course, they always managed to pull through, and everything always went smoothly. But Mrs Bak had always done it on her own — she refused even a smidge of help, just piled on more assignments for the undergrads and postgrads alike (Seungmin supposed it helped her destress, to see him struggle under the weight of a thousand papers) and purchased more post-it notes than seemed feasible. She knew what she was doing, kind of.

Seungmin most definitely did not.

“Of course,” he said, even though his gut was screaming, _God! No! Please, no! Oh god we’re going to screw this up so bad!_ It twisted up into tiny little knots all the way up to his heart, and he had to force his lungs to inflate and deflate properly. “Just tell me what I need to get started on.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” Mrs Bak said, and then did something odd and entirely unexpected, which was crumple slightly, relief flooding across her face. Mrs Bak did not _crumple_ — she was very stalwart, and very rarely even slumped. “There’s so much going on this semester, really. Thank you, Seungmin. This is a great help.”

“It’s no problem,” he said. “Though less essays would probably… um… help.”

Mrs Bak agreed, then spent twenty minutes detailing everything he would have to take care of. There were multiple lists of people he would have to contact, about a million emails to send off, several documents to copy, and a sketch of the master schedule of lectures already filled with irreparable holes. Seungmin also made a mental note to get a floor plan of the school, or at least this building. He had an idea of a large board with lots of colorful post-it notes on it, and suddenly, Mrs Bak’s clawed grip on stacks of the things made a lot more sense.

Eventually, she dismissed him, and he closed the door behind him, his entire body stiff and bloodless. The office turned to look at him, but he was too exhausted by the job ahead to give them more than a wooden stare in return.

With unsteady legs, he made his way over to Wonil’s desk. He pushed aside a few stacks of paper (an advantage of Wonil being fresh meat was that they could shove off extra papers onto his stack, a feature that Seungmin exploited viciously) and perched his ass on his desk.

“Uh — hyung,” Wonil said, surprise laced in his voice. “What happened? You look pale.”

Seungmin swung a lead arm up and set his hand on Wonil’s shoulder with a loud clap that made half the office jump. “Wonil.”

“Yeah?”

“We are _so fucked.”_

* * *

Even with the looming project on the horizon, he still had these last papers to grade. With a sigh, he looked around the office, made peace with the fact that he wasn’t about to get any work done here, and began to pack back up. Changbin would be _so_ fun to see again.

He and Wonil traded phone numbers, made a plan to meet sometime on the weekend (when they would hopefully have the list of every international student coming to study next year, one list of many), and he was then off. This time, his bike ride was filled with thoughts of the impending, massive undertaking. He wasn’t lying — they were entirely fucked. Even other people had come up to offer their condolences when they heard, and this time, Seungmin was inclined to accept them.

He took the scenic route back home, which meant that he took about forty minutes longer than he would have otherwise and ended up at the house at about the same time he always did, since he left early. As always, he locked his bike back in the shed (it took about the same amount of arguing with inanimate objects and shoving as it always did extracting it) and kicked his shoes off at the door, hanging his jacket on the hooks and nearly collapsing face first into the unforgiving hardwood floor. As he stepped into the hallway proper, he took a deep breath in. Changbin was usually finishing up with his own dinner at this point, leaving the kitchen free for Seungmin to take over. His food always smelled incredible, filling the house with cooked rice, or sizzling spice, or grilled meat. There was one good trait of Changbin’s that Seungmin could appreciate, and that was his talent in the kitchen.

“Hello?” Changbin called.

“I’m home,” Seungmin replied.

“Oh!” Changbin’s head poked out from the dining room, further down the hallway. “Seungmin-ah, you’re home. Go wash your hands and come over here. I made us dinner.”

Seungmin stood still in the hallway for a long, long moment after Changbin’s head left. He was too tired to think _ooh~ what if it’s poisoned~ ooh,_ and instead just stood there, a million thoughts running through his perfectly empty head.

He went and washed his hands, and then he ate the food Changbin had made for them.

* * *

Seungmin cleaned up in the kitchen — it was only polite, and he was nothing if not _polite_ to his culinary-inclined rival — and, once he was done, posted up at the dining room table once more, determined to finish these last few essays before he was faced with the absolute torrent of work coming his way.

“Hey,” Changbin said, coming over to linger in the doorway of the dining room, as if this wasn’t his own house as well and he wasn’t allowed in certain rooms. “Are those your essays?”

“Mhm,” Seungmin said, too focused on Kim Yeonjae’s paper to let himself be distracted by Changbin.

“Seungmin,” he said, his voice incredibly soft and gentle, “you’ve been working on those all day.”

Changbin should just wait until he commandeered the dining room for his incoming-students-lecture-and-tutorials-shuffling project. The ISLATSP, as he had begun to call it. But that would come later, when he wasn’t swamped with inane essays from a frankly insane old woman.

“Mhm.”

“I can get you some tea,” Changbin continued in his pillow-soft tone, “but I think it would be best to take a break and rest. You still have time; those aren’t due until Friday. Don’t push yourself too hard, Minnie.”

“Don’t,” Seungmin began, fury rising; but just as fast as it came, the anger faded away, and he just sighed. “Don’t tempt me with a good time, hyung.”

“You’re obviously exhausted.”

“Mhm.” He was.

“You have a bed upstairs. Go use it.”

Seungmin stared at his papers without really seeing them. His eyes were tired, his body was tired, and his brain just refused to work. So he did the same thing Mrs Bak had, just as unexpectedly — he crumpled, folded into himself until he was a tiny ball at the end of the dining room table, and let relief flood every crevice of him.

“Oh, Seungmin,” Changbin said, sounding as if his heart was breaking, and in a second he was beside him, a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder. “There you are. Let’s get you to bed.”

Seungmin didn’t protest as Changbin took him by the hand and led him upstairs to his room. He said nothing at all; only mechanically let himself be led away, changed and put into bed like he was eight years old again and his favorite book was _The Once and Future King._ He had to stop himself from asking Changbin to tickle his back, like he used to ask his mom; he was certain Changbin would actually do it, but it didn’t matter, anyway.

His eyes drifted closed, and he fell asleep between one breath and the next with Changbin’s comforting presence watching over him all the while.


	3. Chapter 3

Seungmin came down late in the morning the next day, rubbing blearily at his eyes and wearing the Harry Potter pyjama pants Changbin had shoved into his arms last night. From the dining room, Changbin watched him stumble into the kitchen and find the mug of tea Changbin had prepared for him. He gazed at it for a moment, suspicious, but put it in the microwave regardless, watching as it spun round and round with empty, expressionless eyes.

Changbin padded over soundlessly, waiting until he was right behind Seungmin to say, “Hey.”

Seungmin jumped about a foot in the air and spun to face him with a thunderous expression. Changbin couldn’t help himself from laughing — not meanly — and leaned against the counter next to him. “Hey,” he said again. “Good morning.”

“Mgh,” Seungmin said, turning his attention back to the tea.

“Did you sleep well?” After he didn’t get an answer, he bulldozed on. “Anyway, once you have your tea ready, I’ve set up in the dining room. I’ll be free for the next few hours, and I think we’ll be able to finish by then.”

Seungmin stared at him like he was crazy, but was distracted by the microwave beeping before he could say anything. As he took the mug out, Changbin wandered over to the dining room; Seungmin followed along without thinking about it, but blinked at the papers stacked neatly on the table. “What’s this?”

“Your essays,” Changbin said, sitting down. “I was thinking we could work on them together.”

Seungmin stood, gaping mindlessly at the set-up before him. “What.”

“I’ll tell you if it managed to convince me, and you’ll check for errors,” Changbin said, smiling at Seungmin’s shocked expression. “That way, we split the workload. If it convinced me, we’ll give it the minimum grade to get an A; if it didn’t, we’ll give it the minimum grade to get a C. Then add and subtract more points for spelling errors, repetition, whatever it is you guys knock points for. What do you think?”

Seungmin just blinked at him.

“What.”

“Why, though,” Seungmin demanded.

“To be honest, you look like death warmed over,” Changbin said. “Whatever happened yesterday at the office must have been pretty bad, right? And, I mean, we’re — ” He choked on the word _friends._ Just couldn’t say it. “We’re — we live together, and I don’t want to have to live with an absolute cave troll if I can help it.”

“I’m always a cave troll,” Seungmin said, though he sat down at the table regardless.

“Yeah, but you’re usually more manageable,” Changbin said.

“Hmpf,” Seungmin said, an incredibly unthreatening noise despite his scrunched nose and exaggerated frown. “Well, if I’m a cave troll, then you’re a bridge troll.”

“What? No way,” Changbin said. He slid the stack of ungraded papers his way and Seungmin didn’t protest even slightly. “I’m like, one of those trolls from Frozen. That turn into rocks.”

“Rock trolls aren’t a thing, though.”

“Yes they are,” Changbin argued. “Trolls turn into rocks in the sunlight, don’t they? So technically, all trolls are rock trolls.”

“You think the troll from Three Billy Goats Gruff turns into a rock in the sunlight? Then how was he able to try to eat the goats? Why would goats try to cross a bridge in the nighttime?”

“In _The Hobbit,_ and _Hilda,_ the trolls all turn into rocks.” Changbin crossed his arms and leaned back against the chair.

“Those are modern stories that borrow elements from various European mythologies,” Seungmin said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “Which, in turn, come from a lot of stories that contradict each other and don’t make sense.”

“Of course they don’t make sense!” Changbin cried, throwing his hands up. “They’re stories about trolls! Trolls aren’t even real!”

“What I’m saying is that in myths, trolls are usually defined by the places they live in! Like caves, or bridges, or forests,” Seungmin said, raising his voice as well. “Calling yourself a rock troll is basically just calling yourself a troll twice! There has to be another distinction, or it just doesn’t make sense!”

“Fine!” Changbin said. “If you’re a cave troll, then I’ll be a troll that lives in the mountains and is ten times bigger than cave trolls and eats cave trolls for breakfast.”

Seungmin opened his mouth to argue again, but closed it with a click. Changbin could _see_ the moment where his train of thought diverted. “Hey, speaking of breakfast…”

“I’ll make you some toast when we’re done,” Changbin said. “How long could this take, really?”

An hour and a half later, Changbin was ready to eat his words. He’d gotten up to make them something to eat at the hour-mark, but laboured over maybe the twentieth essay so far with something like dread. All of these kids said basically the same things — if he had to read the same quote to support the same point in the same argument _one more time,_ he’d…

He tossed the paper onto the table and pressed on his closed eyes. “Christ on a stick, Seungmin, how do you do this all day?”

“It’s not so bad,” Seungmin said, absent-minded as he flipped through one of the papers Changbin had gone through.

“It really is _so bad,”_ Changbin griped. “I don’t get it. I’ve seen you grade — what — about a million of these papers since the school year started. You’ve torn through a small forest, just about. But it’s all the _same._ I’ve read the same argument twenty times today, I’ve read and re-read the same quotes, the same secondary sources, like come _on,_ when does it end? How can you find this interesting?”

“It’s cute,” Seungmin said, a faint smile on his face. “It reminds me of when I was an undergrad. I’d never really looked at books so critically before. There’s always something new to discover; sometimes the kids will make up a really good point that we haven’t thought of before, and I know for a fact Mrs Bak will incorporate those points into her classes sometimes.”

“It just doesn’t make sense to me. None of this… novel stuff makes sense,” Changbin said. “People just make things up, and then people like _you_ come along and look at all of it as if it’s some… key to understanding the universe. I mean, they’re just books.”

Seungmin raised his eyebrows at him. _“Just books?”_

“I mean,” Changbin said, immediately backpedalling from Seungmin’s dangerous look. “I mean, like, I chose maths because it’s _important,_ you know? Numbers don’t change. Three will always be three and infinity will always be out of reach. But words shift and change… I can’t get understand how, as you say, so many people find so many different meanings in the same chunk of text. To me, all this is just words, and yet you’re able to get so _much_ out of it all.”

“It’s…” Seungmin put his own paper down as well. “I guess it’s a bit like how there’s supposed to be an infinite amount of numbers between, I don’t know, one and two. One point one, one point one five, one point zero one five… you know. But, at the same time, numbers are always just numbers. On most levels, the number six is the same as the number seven. Everyone around the world has the same idea of what six and seven are. Their gender, race, religion, political ideology, background, culture, and every other aspect of who they are have no bearing on how they see six and seven. It will always be the number six, and the number seven. With books, though, and other types of literature like poems and plays and tv scripts, it’s more objective. They deal more with opinions and art. With books, people’s gender and race and politics and everything _do_ come into play. We look at who the author is, how their life influenced their story, how their culture changed their perspectives… like, Virginia Woolf wrote _Orlando_ because she was queer and a woman and alive in the early nineteen hundreds when it was hard to be queer and female _and_ an author with those qualifications; and Tolkien wrote _The Lord of the Rings_ because the people who had grown up with _The Hobbit_ had gone off to war and didn’t come back and he needed to express that tragedy somehow. There exists an infinite amount of ways to interpret a book, even if it’s just one book. It’s just. Literature is artistic, malleable, and prone to obfuscatory revelations. Maths is more… straightforward. Numerical, if you will.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Changbin argued. “Maths can be beautiful and elegant; literature can be logical and formulaic. Paul Lockhart wrote _A Mathematician’s Lament_ because he was dissatisfied with the way maths as a subject is being approached by educators. He argued that maths is a form of art, just like music and painting, and the way we approach mathematical theory in school is just ridiculous and stunts interest in the beauty of maths. It would be as if musicians taught students to recognize notes and harmonies and the like without having them actually _hear_ anything. Just because we look at mathematics blind to the elegant shape and structure behind it all doesn’t make it all truly formulaic. You just need to look beyond _a squared plus b squared equals c squared_ and the quadratic formula and whatever to see the purity of form and perfection of imagination that we work with.”

“That was a good point, but, well, you’ve just proven _my_ point,” Seungmin said, pointing his pen at him, a triumphant little smile on his face. “He _wrote_ it.”

Changbin sat there, stumped, as Seungmin grinned triumphantly and returned to his papers.

Around them, colors bloomed more spectacularly than ever before.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Seungmin’s project rapidly over the entire house. He told Changbin about the massive undertaking his supervisor had shoved off onto him, the scheduling of all the incoming students in the School of Literature (the ISLATSP whatever thingie), and Changbin was silently grateful that his own advisor had never given him much thought except to tell him he was doing a great job whenever they saw each other. Seungmin would be working with another postgrad, and they would be taking over the dining room as they worked, if that was alright.

Well. Saying they would “take over the dining room” was an understatement if Changbin had ever heard one.

That weasel, Lee Wonil, was around more often than not, sitting in Changbin’s living room or kitchen when Changbin always least expected it, sending emails and calling people and running errands for Seungmin which was usually fetching more post-it notes. As if the whole house wasn’t already overrun with post-it notes; Changbin could barely step out of his bedroom in the morning without trampling a little trail of the things. The dining room table was covered in a layer of papers about a foot deep; there was a large map of the school building plastered to the wall with post-its on each square inch. The shortest stack was five deep. Seungmin was constantly losing pens and pencils and haranguing Changbin or Wonil to go get him more or let him borrow theirs. More than one eraser had been worn down to a tiny stump.

In short, Seungmin was pretty frazzled. Changbin had stopped trying to ply lemon tea on him after the third day, when a mug filled with cold tea had been bumped into (by Wonil’s ass, dammit, Changbin was in the living room at the time struggling through his own book of theorems at the time and he could _prove_ it), spilling all over the ever-growing stacks of paper and making them clumped, illegible, and very nice-smelling. When Seungmin had found out, he screamed bloody murder.

He’d chewed out Changbin for it, and in a fit of jealousy, he had stopped giving Seungmin tea, since he wasn’t going to enjoy it _anyway._

Somehow, through it all, Changbin’s colors hadn’t faded. Seungmin was too busy to actually bother, but the faint glimpses Changbin was able to catch — of him trying so hard to be patient on the phone, him tipping the poor delivery girl who came at all hours of the night, him sleeping gently at the table when the late hours got to him — were enough. Changbin had brought him upstairs to sleep in his actual bed more than once.

But he did still feel, at times, like a stranger in his own home. Wonil had made himself comfortable, the weasel, and was often in the rooms Changbin angled to walk into himself, scaring the living daylights out of him. Once, Changbin had backed out of the living room because of Wonil’s presence on the sofa, only to see him in the kitchen a moment later getting a glass of water _which he then left unwashed in the sink_ — those two rooms were on opposite ends of the house! _How._

So Changbin spent a bit more time at the office, and plenty of time bitching to his friends about the situation. Chan and Felix had invited him out to get lunch one weekend, and Changbin had half a mind to invite Seungmin as well, but. Well.

He lurked in the doorway to the dining room, watching Seungmin pore over his plans.

_“As — per — my — last — email,”_ Seungmin muttered angrily under his breath, punctuating each word with an angry tap at his computer’s poor keyboard.

Yeah, no, he was too busy.

“I’m heading out,” he called over to Seungmin. The other only grunted and continued to assault his laptop. “I’ll pick you up a coffee, if you want.”

Seungmin’s head perked up at the mention of coffee. Changbin had recently been on a coffee detox, and had tossed all their grounds and beans (nothing expensive, thankfully) a week or so ago to avoid the risk of temptation. It was poor timing, obviously; Seungmin had yelled at him extensively for it, but hadn’t gotten any more (nor had he gone out at all, really). Changbin tried to make up for it where he could, by giving Seungmin tea (which had not worked out, obviously) and getting takeaway coffees with sealed lids whenever he stepped out.

“Yes, I want,” Seungmin said.

“I’ll also give our friends your greetings,” Changbin said. “I’ll be back in a couple hours or so.”

But Seungmin had already turned back to his work. He waved an imperious hand at Changbin. “Take your time; this can’t be interesting for you.”

Well, he was right on that account; it really wasn’t. Changbin got his wallet and keys and transport card, and headed out to the diner, where their friends would be waiting.

When he got there, a good half hour later, Chan and Felix were already there, with Jisung and Hyunjin sitting with them. Chan’s arm was slung over Felix’s shoulders, and there were cups of steaming coffee sitting in front of them, though no food. They greeted him with smiles, and he squeezed next to Hyunjin, peeling his jacket and the scent of the outdoors from his shoulders.

“Coffee?” Felix asked.

“No thanks, I’m on a coffee detox,” Changbin said. “It’s not good for me. Just water,” he said to the waitress who had approached. “Thank you.”

“So,” Jisung said, a sly little grin on his face. “How’s things with Seungmin?”

Jisung was taking the piss out of him. He knew that Changbin _liked_ Seungmin, thanks to that ill-advised text conversation, but everyone else in the diner booth would think Jisung was just talking about the project and Seungmin’s ever-increasing stress. This was why Changbin had approached Chan and Felix, the sensible couple of their friend group, for an afternoon out, and not the lunatic on the other side of poor Hyunjin. Somehow, he had managed to worm his way into the meeting anyway, because of course he had.

“It’s fine,” Changbin said. “Nothing new.”

“He’s still working on that project, huh?” Chan said. “Does he know when he’s going to be done?”

“Two seconds before the deadline, probably,” Changbin said lightly. The waitress came by with a glass of water, and he thanked her, and then they all ordered what they always ordered here. “I’m kidding. Hopefully by the end of this semester, though.”

“Isn’t that in about a month or so? Cutting it a bit close,” Felix said.

“I’m not in charge of him.”

“But you’d like to be,” Jisung muttered. Changbin only wished that he was sitting across from him so that he could deliver a swift kick; as it was, he had to reach around Hyunjin (who leaned out of the way) to smack him on the shoulder. “Ow! What, am I wrong?”

Changbin glowered at him, very aware of the others watching the two of them with judgmental eyebrows. “Jisung’s inopportune statement brings me to my next subject, albeit a bit prematurely,” he said.

“Oof, pretty polysyllabic there, pal,” Chan said. “Seungmin rubbing off on you?”

Jisung quivered with repression. Changbin shot him another glare, and showed him a fist at the ready.

“Hyunjin-ah, switch places with me real quick,” he said.

“No, please don’t,” Jisung cried at once, clutching onto Hyunjin’s arm as tight as he could. “Please, hyung, I won’t say anything else.”

Changbin paused, trying to keep a straight face, and settled. Hyunjin looked at him askance. “Alright. So what I wanted to say… um… I’m kind of, sort of, in love with Seungmin.”

The three of them that didn’t know — Chan, Felix, and Hyunjin — sat in silence for a moment, just blinking and processing.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” Hyunjin said. “But nice.”

“Are you serious?” Chan asked. “Don’t you guys hate each other or whatever?”

“That’s what I said!” Jisung said. “Apparently Changbin’s willing to put all that aside in the search for _true love_ or whatever.”

“That’s _not_ what I said,” Changbin grumbled.

“I can’t believe he told _you_ about it, and not us,” Felix said to Jisung.

“Oi, I’m right here.”

“I mean, no offense, Sungie, but you’re not the most romantically inclined member of our friend group,” Felix continued, ignoring Changbin’s sighs. “I wonder why he didn’t tell me or Chan.”

“Hyung,” Chan muttered, but the struggle to get Felix to respect honorifics was an uphill battle. Pretty Sisyphean, in all honesty.

“Still right here,” Changbin said.

“Hey, I give good advice,” Jisung said, offended.

“No, you don’t,” Hyunjin muttered.

“Well, I gave good advice on that one occasion, didn’t I?” Jisung asked, giving eyes to Changbin, who just shrugged. “You guys are all total saps. You would have told him to confess, even if Seungmin would have taken it badly. They don’t have the same kind of relationship you guys have.”

That was true. Chan and Felix were basically the essence of true love. They’d met in high school, and so came into Changbin’s life during college already deeply in love with promise rings and the understanding that they’d get married when they were a bit older and more settled in their lives. They were, like, _committed._ Had professed their desire to grow and learn alongside each other for the rest of their lives, and all that.

“Well,” Chan said, a mysterious grin on his face.

Felix sighed and rolled his eyes. “This story is embarrassing,” he informed them.

Chan smiled lovingly and squeezed Felix a little tighter to his side. “It’s not,” he told him. “It’s perfectly natural. It’s a normal part of many relationships, despite the standard societal expectations that are difficult and frankly pretty unrealistic for anyone to achieve.”

“Okay, thank you, Christopher,” Felix muttered.

“Hyung.”

“When Chan and I first started dating, I didn’t see colors,” Felix announced. Changbin felt his eyebrows raise. “I mean, I liked him and all that, but I was also still in high school. And I love him now, with all the colors I could ever want, but for a pretty long time I was in a relationship with a guy that I _liked_ but didn’t _love._ I thought I was stupid, or broken in some way, because I _knew_ the way I liked Chan was different from how I liked my parents, or sisters, or friends. I cared for Chan, deeply and passionately, but… I had some lingering doubts about our future and the difference in our age; now it’s better, since we’re all on the wrong side of our twenties. But I was certain that our relationship would fall to pieces while Chan was at college and I was still in high school, that he would meet other, cooler people and that he wouldn’t want to be chained to an ickle teenager in a long-distance relationship. I was afraid to commit — to put my all into my feelings for Chan, and believe that he would _want_ to build a long-term life with me. So I went almost a year in our relationship without colors.”

“I had no idea, by the way,” Chan said. “I thought he had colors like I did. We hadn’t really talked about it, which was a slight on our part, but I thought Felix knew he and I were, I don’t know, soulmates, as sappy as that sounds.”

Felix smiled and squeezed the hand that was around his shoulders.

“When I found out, we fought, of course,” Chan said. “I thought it meant Felix didn’t trust me, didn’t want to have to deal with my issues, which were and are plentiful. Funnily enough, I never thought that it was because Felix didn’t love me. I knew, I think; I think I’ve always known. But we finally confronted our feelings; I told him that I felt irreparable, sometimes, and that having Felix there made me able to put duct tape over the strange, broken parts of myself, and made me learn to love the mess of a person I was. I told him I’d never leave him behind.”

“I told him about my fears of commitment, and of him being disappointed in me because I was without colors no matter how hard I tried,” Felix said. “Which was why I hadn’t said anything. I would have been crushed if Chan thought less of me because of it. I told him that I wanted to be with him no matter what, but that I was so scared that he wouldn’t feel the same way. I said it felt unfair to be loved so remarkably, so truthfully, so… provably, but not be able to give that same affirmation in return. And then, and it really did happen like this, I said I _did_ love him — and just like that, the whole world just…” He made a small poofing gesture with his hands. “I don’t know why. I think I just needed to say it to realize it. You know — it’s always the moment you realize, or admit to yourself. The moment you can’t deny it anymore, at least not to yourself.”

“And we’ve been together ever since,” Chan said in a fairy-tale sort of voice, holding Felix tightly to his side with a broad grin on his face. Felix laughed, and laughed even harder when Chan pecked him on the cheek. Jisung and Hyunjin cheered and clapped, and Changbin felt himself swell with pride. It really was a nice story.

“So what we’re trying to say is that not even our story is perfect,” Felix said to Changbin. “Falling in love is weird. You can fall in love a million different ways, with a million different people; it’s about making a choice, a commitment, a decision, in the end. So I guess Jisung was right.”

“Fuck yeah,” Jisung whispered, pumping his fist.

“I _would_ tell you to confess to Seungmin,” Felix continued, gracefully ignoring him. “You never know how it’ll turn out. It’s worth confessing, even if he doesn’t accept; it’s better to have those feelings out there than to live with a secret like that.”

“I… I guess,” Changbin said, though he wasn’t entirely sure. “It’s just…”

The waitress then arrived with their food, and as they ate, the conversation shifted to Hyunjin’s latest role as a barista in some webdrama. Changbin mused over Felix and Chan’s relationship, and his own relationship with Seungmin.

They weren’t friends. They had never been friends, and they weren’t even supposed to be rivals, if only their friend groups had never met each other and forced them to spend time with each other. Seungmin had hated him (or at least strongly disliked him) from the beginning. Once, he had done something with Changbin’s bike that made the breaks fail; luckily, he was able to stop himself safely before he got too far from his place, but if he had been on the road or riding down a hill, he would have been totally fucked. That was the worst prank, though. After that, Seungmin just did things like putting hair dye into his conditioner bottles and making all of his erasers wet and unusable, and Changbin did the same.

So, basically, they were nothing like Felix and Chan. Sure, those two had their own problems; but Changbin and Seungmin had a million more, and he just couldn’t see a way to reconcile their differences.

Changbin and Seungmin, and never the twain shall meet.

“You alright there?” Chan asked, his voice low as Felix, Jisung, and Hyunjin dramatically acted out a scene from Hyunjin’s script. Changbin looked up, feeling rather like a deer caught in the headlights. Or a toad in the flashlight. “You’re totally killing everyone’s french fries.”

Changbin looked down at the table. Indeed, as he’d been lost in thought, he’d torn through his own order of fries and was a good way through Jisung and Hyunjin’s, who were thankfully oblivious. He nibbled at the one in his hand, feeling rather chastened.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Seungmin,” Changbin confessed. “I can’t stop thinking about… I guess… how we’d never work out. He hates me, hyung. He would make me feel like an idiot if I ever told him how I feel, and he’d never, ever like me back. It’ll just — go badly. I know it will.”

“There’s no way you could know that for sure,” Chan said. “Confessing might make him look at you in a different light. He might agree to try a relationship with you, and maybe something will happen with that. Maybe he’ll change. After all, you did.”

“I don’t want that, though,” Changbin groaned, sliding down in the overstuffed vinyl booth. “I don’t know. I think I want something perfect, but that’s not something we could be.”

“That’s not something anyone could be,” Chan agreed.

“And — it’s so strange to actually care about him now,” Changbin said. “I worry about him. It’s monstrous. So I don’t think telling him anything about how I feel right now is going to do him any good, with the project going on… he’s always on call, or emailing someone, or sending me and Wonil out to get new post-its — we’ll never run dry — he’s taken over the whole house at this point, and it’s driving him to pieces.”

“So you won’t ask him out because he’s stressed?”

“Yes?”

Chan shrugged. “I didn’t think you would be so selfless.”

“Hey!”

“I mean…”

“Felix!” Changbin called. “Your soulmate is haranguing me.”

Chan laughed at that, and Felix flushed furiously, sinking down to slump over the table. “Yeah? What do you expect me to do about it?” he asked.

Jisung leaned over. “What’s he haranguing you about?”

“Nothing,” Changbin said quickly, just as Chan said, “He’s not going to tell Seungmin about his feelings.”

Changbin put his head in his hands and tried to drown out the resulting mess of sound. “Listen! It’s just — it just won’t work out. I’m certain of it.”

The other four sighed, disgruntled, and settled back. “Are you certain?” Hyunjin asked.

“I am,” Changbin replied at once. “For one, he’s stressed and busy right now. For two, he’d ridicule me for falling for him. For third, that weasel Lee Wonil is around the house all the time and I loathe him. And to conclude, we still hate each other; my… infatuation doesn’t magically erase _years_ of antagonizing each other.”

With his excuses lined up in front of him like disgruntled soldiers, Changbin crossed his arms and flumped against the back of the booth. The others looked at him, then at each other. They had a silent conversation that Changbin didn’t follow, and eventually all shrugged.

“Alright,” Chan said. “If you’re convinced it won’t work, then we won’t push it. Try to get over him if you want. It’s not like you have to commit to him if you really love him; you’re not soulmates. You’re just in love.”

Changbin chewed at his lip in worry, unable to look any of the others in the eye. “Right.”

“I’m sorry about… all of this,” Hyunjin said. “I also think it would be worth it to confess, but that’s because I think we’re all pretty idealistic about love at this table.”

“Not me,” Jisung muttered.

“I just want to make sure that getting over him is what you really want to do,” Hyunjin continued. “You can still love him without trying to confess, after all. And if you try to get over him, you’ll lose your colors again. Are you willing to do that?”

“I… I’ll think about it,” Changbin said, and that was all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plate-throwing scene starts at _“Seungmin-ah,” Changbin said from the doorway to the kitchen. Seungmin glared at the contents of the refrigerator instead of answering. “Are you alright? You seem upset.”_ and continues to the end of the chapter. (in the end, it's not very important, just a summary of the current emotions of the character.)

The semester was very rapidly drawing to a close, and Seungmin’s project was nearly completed. Pretty much all he had to do was send his proposal to Mrs Bak, show it to the other departments, and make minimal changes if he had to. He’d been talking to the History and Theatre departments, and they were all pretty sure that there were no overlapping lectures or scheduled rooms; and though the Liberal Arts buildings did host a few other schools, Seungmin was pretty sure his proposal would be well met. There were a few load-bearing freshman lectures he would have to fight for, and an unfortunate amount of 8 a.m.’s for the second and third years, but for the most part he was pretty confident.

Changbin had been… weird, but not in a way that Seungmin had to actually worry about. He spent most evenings and some of the nights out, if he wasn’t holed up in his room or the living room working; he had snapped at Wonil often enough that he had both talked to Seungmin about it (who had just shrugged, he really didn’t care enough) and began to avoid Changbin like his life depended on it. Changbin was in the third year of a five-year maths program (gross), and was largely focused on making sure his graduate thesis was running smoothly.

He was also working with several undergraduates as their TA. Maths wasn’t like literature; people actually worked together, for one, and Changbin had plenty of study groups to oversee and despairing students to console as their finals loomed ever-closer.

“Hey,” Changbin said early one morning in late April. He made two cups of lemon-honey tea and slid one over to Seungmin. “I’ve got a student coming by later today. I know it’s not ideal, since your project has thrown up all over the house, but we’re just going to go over something she’s having trouble with. When do you think you’ll have all of this done, anyway?”

“In a couple weeks,” Seungmin said, blowing over the top of the mug to cool it down. “I want every second I have to fix any loose ends and make it as perfect as I can. After I present it at the meeting, there’s probably going to be some small changes, and then it’ll all be settled.”

“Cool, I’m looking forward to seeing the wallpaper in the dining room again,” Changbin said. Seungmin snorted; it wasn’t as if his project had completely taken over the house, honestly, it was just a lot of organizing. “Just make sure that weasel stays out of the living room this afternoon, alright? I don’t need his creep vibe hanging around.”

“He’s not…” Seungmin gave up, unable to defend Wonil’s miasma of dread (and, indeed, creepiness). “Whatever. Good luck with your students.”

“Cheers,” Changbin said, and disappeared back into the depths of the house. Seungmin sighed and waited for Wonil to come over, sipping the tea as it gradually cooled, thinking absent-mindedly about changing out of his pyjama pants. Well, Wonil had seen him in worse states of attire before, and it was his house anyway, so.

The rest of the day was spent coordinating with the History department about an upperclassman class on Friday afternoon; they had a couple double-major students taking Literature classes, and Seungmin wanted to make sure that there wouldn’t be any sudden complications.

_I’m so glad that you’ve reached out to me about this,_ Seungmin typed, his teeth gritted. _There may be a tutorial Thursday morning that we can merge with that tutorial; we can speak to Jeon Hyunseok and see what she has to say. If not, there should be a classroom on the sixth floor in Block B that is open at that time slot._

God, this was tedious.

Once he sent the email, Seungmin decided to take a small break. It was about four thirty in the afternoon; an hour and a half ago, Changbin had admitted his poor student, and Wonil had sulked into the dining room. He was still there at the end of the table, playing minecraft or something, the lazy bastard.

“Wonil-ah,” Seungmin said, grabbing his attention. “Can you send an email to Theatre and see if they’ve heard of anything on Thursday mornings on the sixth floor of Block B?”

“Fine,” he grumbled, turning back to his computer.

Seungmin got up to pace around the table and wondered if he could bother Changbin for a little bit. His student was probably gone by now; it had been an hour and a half, after all, how long could a maths discussion reasonably take?

He stretched out, drawing an eye roll from Wonil — yeah, you dick, try sitting at the same place for three hours and see how you feel after — and made his way to the living room. As he got closer, he could hear the sounds of a conversation, and slowed down to listen.

“I just — I don’t even know if this is the right choice for me,” a young woman’s voice said. “I can barely grasp these concepts, I don’t understand — ”

“You’re doing fine,” Changbin’s voice said. Seungmin paused right by the doorframe, hardly daring to lean around and look in. “Maths is hard; especially at a college level, we’re looking at a lot of complicated theory that’s hard to grasp. It’s fine if you don’t get it right away. That’s what I’m here for.”

“But — ” The woman sighed in frustration. “We’ve spent _hours_ working on this! No matter how much I study, it just doesn’t make any sense. I feel so stupid.”

“Hey, you’re _not_ stupid,” Changbin said, his voice more stern. Seungmin lowered himself into a kneel and peered around the edge of the doorway, watching Changbin and the young woman (he searched for her name and came up empty) sit on the couch. As he watched, Changbin put a hand on her upper back, looking at her with concern and firm comfort. “Hey. Listen to me. You are the furthest thing from stupid. You’re very brave for coming here all on your own, and for tackling an incredibly difficult course of study. Don’t let this setback bring you down, okay? I know you must be frustrated right now, but we’re going to get through this.”

“I just feel like none of this is worth it,” the young woman said, much quieter than before. She wiped her face, and Seungmin realized she must have been crying. “I’m a bad student, aren’t I?”

“You are _not,”_ Changbin said firmly. He scooted forward until he could angle himself to look fully at her. “Having doubts is normal. Not getting certain concepts is normal. You’re just starting out, you know? As you learn and grow, you’ll become more confident in your abilities as a mathematician at your own pace. That’s how it goes. You’re _not_ a bad student and you’re _not_ stupid. Do you hear me?”

She sniffed thickly, but nodded. “Y-yeah. Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m always here to help, Seojin.”

Seojin smiled, and gave Changbin a quick hug before turning back to her work with a sense of vigor. Seungmin fell back and sat against the wall next to the door, lost in thought.

That was… unexpectedly very sweet. What Changbin had said would have been good to hear his freshman year, really… it felt sincere, and heartwarming, honestly. Was this the good side that Seungmin had heard about? He hadn’t expected it to be this… good.

Seungmin felt, all of a sudden, as if he didn’t know Changbin at all. And then, he thought, he would like to.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, he felt a hot sensation seize his skull. Seungmin winced, biting back a hiss, and squeezed his eyes shut — it didn’t hurt, but it didn’t last long enough for him to realize that over the sudden shock. He pressed the heels of his palms to his closed eyes and waited the split-second until it was over.

The strange sensation released him as quickly as it had taken hold of him, and Seungmin released a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He sagged against the wall, feeling rather boneless, and opened his eyes.

Oh, god. Had those colors always been there?

Oh.

_Oh._

He was in love with Changbin.

* * *

Later that night, after Seungmin decided to be done with the ISLATSP and after he’d cleaned up after dinner, he decided he wanted to get piss drunk. For obvious reasons.

He pulled down a couple of bottles of wine and vodka they’d laying around (conveniently just out of Changbin’s reach), and brought up a movie he’d been meaning to watch on the living room television before deciding he’d rather watch it on his laptop in the kitchen. As the opening scene of Spirited Away played, he poured himself a glass of wine with a shot of vodka, watching mindlessly as Chihiro explored a town populated only by shades.

The stools next to the counter were uncomfortable, but it was better than the dining room (overflowing with his work, an unfortunate reminder of the looming meeting) or the living room (where Changbin had been sitting only hours before, so close to the spot where Seungmin had _realized)._

The colors in this movie were beautiful. The sky was a rich blue, the faded red and green of the bathhouse and the golden light pouring out of it at night… maybe it was just because Seungmin was well on his way to drunk, but he loved watching all of it.

He finished one glass by the time Haku told Chihiro to hold her breath across the bridge and poured himself another. A minute later, he heard noises in the hall outside, and turned his attention to Changbin’s arrival in the doorway.

“Hey,” Seungmin said, as the characters on-screen gasped at the sudden humanity in their midst. “Sorry, did I disturb you?”

“No,” Changbin said, though he was looking over Seungmin’s set-up with a critical eye. “You alright there?”

“Mm.”

“Is it the project?”

“Not really,” Seungmin said, fiddling with his wine glass and wondering how much he should say. “Just… lots to think about.” Lots of Changbin-related thoughts to think. “Wanna join me?” That was probably the dumbest thing he could have said in that moment.

Changbin looked at the bottles of alcohol, then back to Seungmin, who had rested his head on the counter and was only halfway paying attention to Spirited Away at this point. “Yes.”

Seungmin poured him the same glass of wine plus a shot combo he’d made for himself, and said, “You have plenty of catching up to do,” because he did. Wine by itself didn’t do much, but making it turbo certainly did. Seungmin was halfway to drunk, which was embarrassing, but at this point he didn’t really care.

They watched the movie, with Seungmin ooh-ing and aw-ing at the pretty colors, though he was careful not to say anything about it in front of Changbin. After the movie was over, Seungmin played another one, though it was dorky and they lost interest about ten minutes in.

“Can I ask — ” Changbin hiccuped, then looked mad at himself for hiccuping. “Can I ask why you were going to down a fuck ton of alcohol tonight?”

“Mm, no,” Seungmin said, topping his glass off. “Change the subject.”

“Uh,” Changbin said, obviously floundering for something. “I don’t know? Why’d you invite me?”

“That’s the same subject!” Seungmin cried, gesturing with the nearly empty wine bottle. Changbin frowned and him and leaned away, gently pushing Seungmin’s hand away from his face. “Come on, hyung, you can do better than that.”

“I really can’t.”

“Yeah, you can.”

“Out of the two of us, who studies literature? You’re the expert on subjects here.”

“You flatter me,” Seungmin said, though he couldn’t help himself from grinning. “Change the subject.”

“Alright, fine,” Changbin grumbled. “How’s your project going? All the small changes finished?”

“Eughhhhhhh,” Seungmin groaned, melting onto the counter. “Any subject but that…”

“You’re so picky,” Changbin tsked.

“Evidently not.”

“Hm?”

Seungmin panicked. “Nothing.”

“No, that wasn’t _nothing,”_ Changbin said, leaning towards Seungmin’s slumped form, close enough for Seungmin to smell the alcohol on his breath. They were both equally plastered, apparently. “You’re not picky? What’s made you not so picky anymore?”

Seungmin grimaced and shoved Changbin’s face away. “I’m not telling.”

“Tell.”

“I’m not telling _you.”_

“C’mon, tell your hyung. I probably won’t even remember in the morning, Seungminnie.” The pout was just oozing out of his tone of voice; he had taken on the baby-ish whine that made their other friends melt or laugh, depending.

Seungmin looked up at Changbin consideringly. He felt terrifyingly grounded in his body.

“I wanna know,” Changbin whined.

“You want to know?” Seungmin asked. His voice was low and dangerous, he could tell, but Changbin seemed oblivious.

“Yeah.”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

Seungmin sat up straight on his stool. Changbin followed suit, his eyes wide and pleading as he looked up at Seungmin. With a stab of possessiveness, Seungmin took hold of Changbin’s chin, his fingertips pressing gently into his cheeks. For some reason, Changbin let him, trusted him; he made no move to take Seungmin’s hand away, or to indicate that he thought this was strange at all.

“You really want to…?”

But Seungmin couldn’t finish his thought, too focused on Changbin’s face, flushed red and soft underneath his fingers. He waited patiently for Seungmin to continue, to say anything, looking up at Seungmin with his lips gently parted…

Seungmin could not possibly take responsibility for what happened then; he was out of his depths entirely.

“You…”

Using the grip he had on Changbin’s face, Seungmin brought them together into a gentle kiss.

Their lips smushed together, that awkward moment where neither of them knew what to do with each other; Seungmin had closed his eyes, unable to look at Changbin at this moment, but he felt Changbin melt and press closer to him. A hand fell on Seungmin’s shoulder, pulled him closer, and — as if out of their control — their lips moved softly over each other, chaste and light but electric all the same.

Seungmin moved away first.

Changbin’s eyes were still closed, but once they were parted he took a great shuddering breath. His hand fell from Seungmin’s shoulder to touch his own lips, as if he was shocked at the now-memory of their kiss, and needed to remind himself that it wasn’t imagination. That was how Seungmin felt, at least; he wanted to do it again, to see if this had been a fever dream or not, a hallucination brought on by the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed. Obviously it wasn’t. But.

Without another word, Seungmin dropped his hand from Changbin’s face, gathered up his laptop — still playing that crummy movie, but it silenced at once when he flipped the lid closed — and left the kitchen as quickly as he could, before Changbin had a chance to open his eyes.

He didn’t know if he wanted that to have been real or not, but as he climbed the stairs to his room, he couldn’t stop the curious sensation of smiling.

* * *

Alright, he’d admit, this was kind of stupid. But it was a tradition, sort of — or he was going to make it a tradition, so help him home depot.

Seungmin parked his bike in front of the warehouse hardware store just a couple miles outside of town. He chained it to the rack, hoped that no one would steal it, and headed inside.

Technically, he was there for a new lightbulb for his desk lamp. And also to maybe spend a bunch of time in the lamps section, because that place was magical, okay. And then he thought he’d stop by the paint section.

Seungmin made quick work of getting the lightbulb box, and lingered in the glittery lighting section for the next fifteen or twenty minutes. The place was beautiful even in black and white, but with colors it was something spectacular. When he was a kid, he’d spent hours in this section, of course; but he’d lost his colors when he was five, and his memories were hazy. As the years went by, he’d only fallen in love once before. He had done the same then as he did now, but it had been long enough that he’d forgotten how warm and bright it was here.

Then he went off to the paint section and stole a bunch of paint chips.

* * *

Seungmin had started to… notice.

Things.

About Changbin.

This was not ideal.

Now that he was looking out for it, he could see Changbin’s nice side. Yes, he knew that it _technically_ had been there since before Seungmin had fallen in love with him and their kiss, but that was entirely different from actually noticing it around him. For one, the coffees Changbin would always drop off at his elbow. They had replaced the lemon teas after an unfortunate incident; no one was allowed to perch their ass on the table anymore, and always had to be aware when they were getting near it, or Seungmin would rip them a new asshole. But the coffees were nice.

Another weirdly nice thingie was when Changbin would bring him upstairs after a dreadfully long day and put him to bed. Most of the time, Seungmin had been too out of it to really register how _nice_ it was; but now that he was looking back on their recent interactions, he could admit how un-roommate-like that was, and how sweet Changbin actually had to be to do it.

But now he was noticing even smaller things, god _damn_ it. Like his serious side profile when he was curled over a book and focusing intensely. Or like how he got so invested in his music that he would shriek in surprise when he noticed Seungmin watching him bop along to Loona. (Also, Loona? Unexpected, but nice.)

Seungmin was, apparently, the only one of them who remembered that they had kissed. Changbin hadn’t acted any differently than his already very different recent state; meanwhile, Seungmin couldn’t help himself from obsessing over the kiss, touching his lips and thinking about Changbin’s pliant, trusting face, every soft thing Seungmin had taken hold of.

God, being in love sucked. Was it supposed to be like this the whole time?

To help distract himself, the threw himself into the ISLATSP with even more vigor than before. As a result, he finished about a week before the scheduled humanities meeting, sent off his proposal to Mrs Bak for her approval, and passed out for about twenty-four hours. Wonil had gone home the moment Seungmin started insinuating that he didn’t need him anymore. The next morning, he’d found a very nice email from Mrs Bak (that did try to warn him about the upcoming meeting, but whatever) about his proposal, and Seungmin got to work tidying up in the dining room.

Alright. Maybe Changbin had had a point — the wallpaper was, well, impossible to see.

He didn’t throw away anything — he wasn’t that dumb — but getting everything taken down and tidied felt relieving, and was a good morning’s work. Once he was done, he sat down on the living room couch and texted the worst person ever: his best friend.

* * *

**Seungmin:** hyung

**Minho:** who is this ‘hyung’ u speak of

i know of no man who is this ‘hyung’

**Seungmin:** dearly departed

most wicked ex-husband

anyway i’m going out to lunch do u want to join

**Minho:** and what’s in it for me

**Seungmin:** wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy

**Minho:** no bribe, no lunch date

**Seungmin:** oh, it won’t be a date

i have… other people in mind that i’d like to take out on a date

**Minho:** oh???????????

:33333

do tell

**Seungmin:** nah

that’s ur bribe

come to lunch and i will tell

**Minho:** yes.

**Seungmin:** BUT

what i will tell you, you must not tell another SOUL

**Minho:** not even aiyen-ah?

**Seungmin:** not even that devil

especially not that little shite.

he is the devil in pigeon form

**Minho:** pigeon?????????

original. interesting.

why a pigeon

**Seungmin:** catch me at our usual place in 30 minutes pls

* * *

Despite what it looked like, Minho and Seungmin were very close. They’d had to be married at some point or another to be ex-husbands, after all. And also, Seungmin had had a crush on him way back when, which had led to emotional honesty and vulnerability that provided a solid foundation to their friendship. Because of this, Seungmin was able to order Minho’s lunch for him, and fuck it up just enough to drive him absolutely fucking insane.

“Why a pigeon, though,” Minho said in lieu of a greeting, sliding into the booth of the diner opposite Seungmin and inspecting his order. “It’s been haunting me ever since you sent that text.”

“No reason,” Seungmin said with a shrug. “Just thinking about pigeons.”

“Oh?” Minho looked up at him with a raised eyebrow and a sly smile. “Does this have to do with your mysterious _crush?_ It’s not me again, is it?”

“Do you associate yourself with pigeons? No, it’s not you, and no, it’s not a hint, I just think pigeons and seagulls are the birds of the devil. They’ve got… beady little eyes, you know?” Seungmin dipped a french fry in ketchup and winced as Minho did the same with his milkshake.

“Oh, I see what you fucked around with this time,” Minho said, his voice sweet and clear as he contemplated his fry. “The milkshake is vanilla with pink food coloring.”

Seungmin sighed, irritated at being caught so early and the lack of a real reaction. “And they’ll steal your fries and sandwiches, and follow you around… spying on you to find your weaknesses, for when the leagues of Satan come they will know to tempt you with a fucking… pb&j or whatever… pesto pasta… bean burrito… other general lunchtime meals…”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing, never mind,” Seungmin said, straightening up and clearing his throat. “How have you been doing?”

“Fine,” Minho said, playfully scowling at his vanilla milkshake in an effort to make Seungmin laugh. (It only kind of worked, but he’d never admit to even that.) “Um, dance classes are going pretty well… we’re starting to move over to contemporary styles, I’ll be choreographing a couple of the older classes as a group in a sort of competition with the other teachers. That’ll be exciting. Other than that, Jeongin-ah and I went out the other day, and he’s going to ruthlessly and painfully extract the answer of who you have a crush on out of me when I get home, so it’s in my best interest to extend this lunch date as long as possible by the way.”

“You _told_ him?”

“Not in as many words, per se. He read your texts over my shoulder.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me he was doing that?”

Minho shrugged, unrepentant. “It would have stopped neither him, nor you.”

Seungmin made a disapproving noise low in his throat, but he knew that that was true. “Anyway. Doing choreo sounds fun, what did you have in mind?”

Minho’s eyes lit up, and they talked about his dance classes for a good while. Seungmin knew absolutely nothing about dance (he liked to sing if that counted for anything, though he knew in his heart that it didn’t), but it was cute to watch his usually stoic hyung get engaged with a topic he was both interested in and knowledgeable about. They picked at their food, Seungmin stealing Minho’s fries to dip them in ketchup (where they belonged) if he went on a tangent for too long.

His eyebrows raised higher and higher as Minho described the elaborate showcase he was thinking of making. “You’ll be able to teach that by July?”

“Yeah, I have a few months, it won’t be hard. I’ll get Channie to remix the song choice so that it sounds sexy.”

“If you do that, he’ll make you record demo tracks again, you know.”

“I’ll loan you out to him.” Minho smirked at Seungmin’s dead expression. “Anyway, anyway. I don’t have anything else to say about it, and I’ve been talking enough about it. Tell me about your crush.”

“Way to change the subject,” Seungmin said. “You’ve just been absolutely dying to ask, huh?”

“Genuinely, yes,” Minho said. “Also, you were the one distracting us by getting me to talk about my dancing. I genuinely cannot believe you have a crush on someone. It just doesn’t fit your general… vibe.”

Seungmin sighed. “It’s… it’s worse than that.”

“What? How could it be _worse?”_

“I’m in love.”

The two of them sat in silence for a long moment. Minho looked stunned; he obviously hadn’t been expecting that, and seemed as if he was waiting for Seungmin to laugh at him and tell him he was joking.

“This is orange and pink,” Seungmin said, taking a keychain from Minho’s bag; “this is red with white trim — ” the vinyl booth — “and the bushes outside have little blue flowers on them. Not only am I in love, but the world has decided to prove it. This is the worst experience of my life. I hate being in love.”

“Wh — don’t even say that,” Minho said, as if he was acting on reflex. “Then why haven’t you tried to stop being in love?”

Seungmin shrugged. “I like the colors. I figure I can enjoy them until I get my heart broken, because I absolutely will, without having to actually act on my feelings. I mean, it’s pretty nice to experience the world like this, you know? I feel like it’s more… fresh.”

“Yeah, late spring is a very good time to fall in love,” Minho said. “You couldn’t have scheduled it more perfectly if you tried.”

“I suppose so. It’s going to suck when I have to give it up, but it’ll have to happen eventually, you know?”

“Not really,” Minho said, his voice more gentle than seemed necessary. “You could always just tell this person how you feel. Who knows, maybe they’ll feel the same way.”

“Not likely,” Seungmin said dismissively. He dipped his french fry in his ketchup and contemplated the deep red color for a moment. “It’s Changbin.”

Once again, Minho was completely stunned. He leaned back in the booth, crossed his arms, and looked up at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling, and stayed like that for a minute or more. Seungmin just stole all of his french fries and also half of his remaining milkshake.

“It’s not — Seo Changbin? _Our_ Changbin? The — the guy you’re mortal enemies and also roommates with? God.” Minho chuckled. “That’s just perfect.” He was still looking up, apparently unable to meet Seungmin’s eyes. “You are absolutely fucking with me. Who is it really?”

“Seo Changbin.”

“Min.”

“Yes.”

“Literally who — ” He bounded forward suddenly, fixing Seungmin with an intent gaze that he _knew_ Seungmin hated receiving. “Kim Seungmin, if you are fucking with me right now, I’m going to burn your house down.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not fucking with you, then. Why do I think I was being so melodramatic about being in love? With fucking _Changbin?_ I wasn’t kidding when I said this is the worst.”

“Christ.”

“And I kissed him.”

_“What?!”_

“And I _liked it.”_

Minho pressed his hands to his face and muffled a scream. “Oh my god. You’re in love with Changbin.”

“Yeah.”

_“You’re_ in love with Seo Changbin. You.”

“Me.”

“I — ” Minho scrubbed his face with his hands, then paused. Seungmin knew him well enough to know that this was the blank expression that meant he had realized something. “Am I the first to know?”

“… yes.”

“So,” Minho said, a small smile growing on his face. “That means I get to break the news to everyone.”

“Just make sure it doesn’t get back to Changbin,” Seungmin said, far too used and resigned to Minho’s harebrained schemes.

“Sure, sure. How’d you even find the time to fall in love, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be incredibly busy right now?”

“I don’t actually know,” Seungmin said. He rested his chin on his hand and gazed outside the window, watching the city outside. “To be honest… I don’t know how I feel about loving Changbin. But I have to.”

“And why is that?”

“… I don’t want to lose the colors.”

* * *

The week passed as Seungmin got his presentation prepared, and on the Friday of the meeting, he met Mrs Bak and they walked over together. She took him to a relatively small room on the upper floors of Block B, where they met with the Deans of the other humanities schools (Fine Art, Classics, and Philosophy, among others). Seungmin nodded respectfully to the History and Theatre department heads who had helped him out, and sat down next to Mrs Bak, eyeing everyone’s huge folders. Though he wasn’t the only assistant, he must have been the newest; most everyone gave him questioning or appraising looks.

“Hello, everyone,” a cheery older woman said; apparently the leader of this meeting, and also the Dean of Religious Studies, Mrs Jang. “Let’s get right to business, shall we? I think most of us have revamped all of our courses for at least one year, so there’s much to organize here. We’ll all share our plans, and then discuss. Mr Yeun, go ahead and start us off, please.”

Mr Yeun was the head of the Classics department, which kept to the fourth, fifth, and sixth floors of Block A; nothing that interfered directly with Seungmin’s plans. As he went over his proposed schedule, Seungmin checked against his own, noting when they had conflicting tutorials or lectures in the ground-floor lecture halls. Most everyone else was doing the same. Luckily, there was nothing important he’d have to fight for. Mrs Jang nodded in approval, and then gestured for Mrs Bak to present.

As Mr Yeun had, Mrs Bak stood at her spot and explained Seungmin’s plans to the rest of the meeting. Seungmin watched as everyone else at the table — like, important, serious people with his actual dream career, holy shit — listened carefully and took down notes. There was a lot more scribbling than there had been with Mr Yeun’s presentation, but that was mostly because he had tried to take some of the more desirable lecture slots. Some of them were a risky gamble, but hopefully the important lecture slots would be safe.

Everyone at the table went around to show their schedules. Seungmin had plenty of notes to take, and by the end of their rounds, he had covered his papers in a multitude of colorful lines, circles, and notes. God, this was going to suck.

“Fantastic, everyone, thank you,” Mrs Jang said. “It seems as if we’ve got a few scheduling conflicts to iron out.”

Seungmin looked at his notes and cringed.

“Let’s at least try to have a civil conversation this time, please? If you all start yelling at each other, I’m going to be petty and favor the people who make my ears hurt the least.” Hearing the words _I’m going to be petty_ from such a sweet-looking old woman made Seungmin have to hold in a laugh. “I want everything ironed out by five tonight. Go.”

At once, as if they had been just waiting for the signal, every person leapt at each other. Seungmin was taken off-guard, and watched as the Dean of Fine Arts — Ms Hwa — get swamped by everyone who wanted the airy, large rooms on the second floors of both Blocks, which was nearly everyone. She was pulled into conversation with Mr Na, the Dean of History, and everyone else fell upon each other.

Seungmin wasn’t able to keep out of the fray for much longer. Mrs Bak pulled him into a conversation with Mrs Jang and her own assistant, and from then until five o’clock that evening, he was consistently fighting off everyone’s attempts at stealing his time slots and lecture halls. When she was able to, and she was often able to, Mrs Bak bargained their assailants away with either blackmail or desperate promises.

But by the time they emerged, sweaty and breathless, from the massive negotiation of scheduling, Seungmin’s lectures had almost been entirely shuffled around. Almost all of his load-bearing freshman lectures had been reduced to rubble. He was going to have to rebuild a huge complex of tutorials from the ground up.

_Fuck._

Mrs Bak led him out of the room, both exhausted and stunned into silence. They stumbled to her office, only a couple floors away from the meeting room; she dismissed everyone who was still lingering before sitting him down at his desk and taking the chair opposite.

“Seungmin,” she began, still finding her voice. “You did a fantastic job.”

Seungmin, who was still processing the absolute massacre of his perfect schedule, said nothing. There was nothing he could say. The feeling of incredible offense and disappointment filtered into him, very slowly.

“Your schedule was incredible. It was better than mine, when I first had to do it. I’m proud of you.”

“It was just… totally ripped apart,” Seungmin said, his voice and mind entirely blank.

“That’s what happens,” Mrs Bak said. “I’m sorry. This year was… especially ruthless, but it’s never fun, Seungmin.”

“They just tore it to pieces. I have to start over.”

“No, I can take over from here,” Mrs Bak said. “You did a good job, but this is, well, my job.”

Seungmin sat for a while, trying to make himself think about her offer. Eventually, he managed to say, “Alright.”

“Great.” Mrs Bak offered him a wane smile and a small pat on the shoulder that he didn’t really feel. “Give me what you’ve been working with, and I’ll ask you if I need help. And thank you for doing this for me. Really.”

Seungmin got up, thinking about saying something like _It was nothing_ or _I was glad to do it. It was good experience._ In the end, he said nothing, gathering his coat and his bag and heading out with only a muttered, “Goodbye.”

On the bike ride home, Seungmin just couldn’t get comfortable. He felt trapped in his skin with the rising anger — the helmet on his head was too tight, the jacket over his shoulders was too tight, the shirt over his chest and the skin over his fingers — all of it was too tight and close and _awful._

He shoved his bike inside the shed once he got home, yelling frustratedly when it refused to cooperate with him; he finally gave up and just tossed it on the ground by the shed, sparing it a vain thought that it wouldn’t rust overnight or be stolen. He wrestled with his keys at the front door and all but shoved it open, kicking off his shoes and abandoning his coat in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Seungmin would have stormed upstairs, blasting angry music in his eardrums and writhing around until he got all the anger and frustration out, but the faint sound of giggling floated over from the dining room, and he went to investigate.

Standing with Changbin, looking at the piles and piles of paper spread all over the table, was a stranger. In his house.

“This is so… much,” they whispered, and shared a helpless giggle with Changbin.

“You should have seen it earlier,” Changbin said back. “All over the walls.”

Seungmin flushed furiously. He scoffed, making the two of them jump, and stormed off to the kitchen, deciding to make himself something to eat so that he didn’t go to bed hungry. After a moment, he heard shuffling behind him; he rolled his eyes, wishing in vain that Changbin and his _friend_ would leave him alone.

“Seungmin-ah,” Changbin said from the doorway to the kitchen. Seungmin glared at the contents of the refrigerator instead of answering. “Are you alright? You seem upset.”

“Piss off,” Seungmin said, shooting a glare over his shoulder. The stranger quailed, but Changbin stood firm, even giving Seungmin a pitying look.

“I’m sorry, if you heard what we said,” Changbin continued. “That was… kind of mean — ”

“You think?” Seungmin slammed a carton of leftovers on the counter without looking back, then started searching for their bottle of gochujang. They hadn’t cleaned out the fridge in a while, and it must have been hidden under their wilted lettuce. Maybe he could use some of the spring onion they had on the windowsill, too.

“Look, Seungmin, I get you’re kind of mad right now, but couldn’t you at least try to calm down? I don’t know what the hell is the matter with you, but you’re being rude, and I’ve got a guest over, so fucking check yourself. You’re acting like a child.”

Seungmin saw red. He turned slowly to look at Changbin and the stranger, murder plain on his face. Both figures were awash in red.

“Get out of my house,” he told the stranger, who gave one look at Changbin, turned on their heel, and ran. Seungmin locked eyes with Changbin, whose own face was contorted in offense and anger.

“What the hell do you think — ?”

Seungmin whirled around, grabbed a plate from the cabinet, and hurled it at Changbin. It shattered by his feet, and Changbin jumped back, startled into silence.

“Why can’t you just _leave me alone!”_ Seungmin yelled. “All day, every day, you’re always hanging off my elbow, always just underfoot — you won’t _fucking leave me alone!_ I hate it! I hate _you!”_

Changbin’s face screwed up in anger. “The feeling is fucking mutual.”

The front door slammed closed, and Changbin’s head turned to stare in its direction. Seungmin whipped another plate at his feet. It shattered beautifully, and Changbin gave a wordless yell, jumping away from the shards. “I _never_ want you to look at me again! Why couldn’t you just be _normal?_ What had to change between us? And now you’ve gone and — ” He threw another plate, unable to find words to put to his thoughtless anger.

“What the hell is the _matter with you?_ Stop throwing the fucking plates!”

Out of spite, and fury, Seungmin used both hands to hurl another plate at the wall beside Changbin’s head. He had to duck out of the way, his hands flying up to shield his face.

“Fucking _stop!_ Why are you so angry all of a sudden? What did I ever do to you?”

“You — you don’t even know!” Seungmin scoffed, incredulous. He wanted to rip his skin off and show Changbin why his heart beat. He wanted to show him all of the red and black and blue that existed inside him, all of his colors, all of the intimate parts of him, he wanted to put it all in front of Changbin’s face and make him see what he was doing. What his existence and bizarre kindness and beauty did to Seungmin. He was a fool of Changbin’s making and he didn’t even _know._ “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“Not if you don’t tell me! Seungmin, I can’t read minds!”

“Why can’t you see… why don’t you understand…! I can’t — Why do you make me feel — ” Seungmin choked on the words. _Why do you make me feel like this? Why am I in love with you? Of all people, it’s you…_ The moment he faltered, the anger in him left all in a rush, leaving him pained and empty. The plate he held slipped out of his hand and shattered on the ground next to him, and he collapsed to sit next to it, falling out of Changbin’s view to stare at the counter opposite him. The weathered white wood of the familiar cabinet was comforting, in its own way.

Silence rang in the kitchen. Seungmin waited to hear Changbin walk away, waited for his presence to disappear and for the nothingness of this empty feeling to swoop in and take his place. But there came no footsteps, only the faint, ragged sound of the two of them breathing.

Seungmin’s heart beat wildly in his chest, the blood rushing through his ears pounding in time, until it was the only thing he could hear. He found it hard to take a deep breath, fully fill his lungs, but trying to make his chest anything but empty made him feel like he was going to throw up.

“Seungmin?” Changbin whispered, after a long, long while.

Seungmin found that he couldn’t say anything. He was trapped in his own mind, a prisoner of a dead tongue.

“Seungmin,” Changbin said again, his voice gentle. “Are you done now?”

Seungmin managed a weak noise that must have meant _yes._

“Alright. I’m coming over there. Don’t throw another plate at me, okay?”

Seungmin made no promises, but Changbin hesitantly walked over, avoiding the shards that used to be their plates as best he could until he stood beside Seungmin’s crumpled form. Without either of them saying anything, Changbin took out two mugs, and began to make his tea.

Seungmin drew his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them. He didn’t move, even though he knew he was in the way; Changbin leaned around him, pressing his leg to Seungmin’s still form. God, that felt so good. _God._

He didn’t have time to fall in love — he didn’t _want_ to fall in love, he didn’t want to _be_ in love, he wanted to hate love and hate Changbin and hate the world for doing this to him. He wanted to hate the entire universe for coming up with this stupid _colors and love arrive and leave together_ rule. Beauty was an all-or-nothing experience and he hated it.

And yet, as Changbin swept up the shards by Seungmin so he could sit next to him and hand him a mug of warm, sweet tea, Seungmin could not find anything in him at all, save for love.


	5. Chapter 5

The semester ended with a bang. Seungmin and Changbin worked very hard to make sure all of the undergraduates they were in charge of made it through their exams, but once that was over, they had the whole summer (mostly) off. Their friends were ecstatic.

They insisted on hanging out, and invited themselves over to Seungmin and Changbin’s house the first weekend they could. Felix came over with leftover stock from his bakery — “I’m the manager, I get to do what I want with the day-old doughnuts.” — and the whole group watched Porco Rosso and The Wind Rises. The couples all paired off, Chan and Felix, Hyunjin and Jisung, Minho and Jeongin, but Seungmin found himself sitting on the opposite end of the living room to Changbin, squished onto their tiny couch with one of the couples, who were giggling and gross.

They’d been keeping their distance since that fight. Seungmin had apologized, and Changbin had accepted, but then they had been distracted by their end-of-year duties and hadn’t said much to each other at all. It was a little awkward, but that might have been the point — they had reestablished the distance they had somehow lost over the past couple months, which was what Seungmin _wanted._ And he knew why he was unhappy about it, which only made him more unhappy, which only furthered the divide between them. This sucked.

Seungmin was only half-watching the movie, caught up in his own thoughts. Chan, who was sitting next to him with Felix, cottoned onto his mood and leaned over. “Hey,” he whispered. “Seungminnie, what’s wrong?”

“Hm?” Seungmin said intelligently.

“I’m asking if something’s wrong,” Chan whispered. “You’ve been out of it since we got here.”

Seungmin cringed slightly at the thought of being rude. “Sorry. Just — a lot on my mind.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Right now?” Seungmin looked at the others, who seemed pretty invested in Porco Rosso. Felix was the only one listening on their conversation, and that was because he was sitting right next to them. Even Minho and Jeongin were leaning on each other and making heart eyes at the screen. “We’re watching a movie.”

“Why not?” Chan shrugged. “We can go somewhere else, if you want.”

“… no,” Seungmin murmured, thinking of how to get Chan off his back. After a second of intense deliberation, he decided to give up. “On my bedside table, there’s a little metal box. Go find what’s inside, then come back to me.” He felt like the quest giver from a cheesy 80s video game, but Chan went off without question. Felix looked at him questioningly, but Seungmin just shrugged, and he shrugged in return and gave his attention back to the movie.

Ten minutes later, Chan came back, obviously confused as he slid back onto the couch. “Why do you have paint chips in your room? Are you remodeling?”

“No.”

“Then why? Tell me, tell your hyung,” Chan teased. Seungmin was almost uncomfortably reminded of his kiss with Changbin.

“You’re a smart boy, you’ll figure it out,” Seungmin said in English. Beside him, Chan was torn between being proud of Seungmin’s choice of language, and being peeved at what he was actually saying. Felix on his other side tittered quietly.

A few minutes passed; Porco Rosso was coming to a close, and Seungmin was gradually re-absorbing himself into the story. Marco and Curtis were fighting onscreen until Gina appeared, giving everyone pause and announcing the arrival of the Italian Royal Air Force.

Chan gasped in sudden realization, whipping his head around to stare at Seungmin. A couple others turned to look at them, but quickly refocused on the movie.

“You’re in love,” Chan whispered, thankfully too quiet for even Felix to hear. “Aren’t you?”

Seungmin’s silence was answer enough.

“Who is it?”

“I’m not telling you,” Seungmin whispered. “Watch the movie.”

Chan twisted around until he was fully facing Seungmin with his arms crossed. Seungmin stared resolutely at the television screen. “Are you really not going to tell me?”

“I’m really not going to tell you.”

Chan tsked, then pulled out his phone.

* * *

**Chan** created chat **emergency group meeting**

**Chan:** alright who is it

i know one of you knows

who does ksm love

**Minho:** bang chan you are so fucking stupid

hold on

* * *

Changbin stared blankly at his phone. The newly formed group chat had gone silent, which was suspicious on its own even if the others weren’t still typing on their phones. It was a little awkward. He tried to watch the rest of the movie, but it was just wrapping up and everyone else focusing on their silent conversation was more than a little distracting.

Jisung startled, almost dropping his phone onto Hyunjin’s head. “It’s _what?”_

“Oh my god, _shut up,”_ Hyunjin said, reaching around to smack his leg.

By instinct, Changbin’s eyes gravitated towards Seungmin, who was equally nonplussed. He was probably being left out of the conversation too, since he wasn’t looking at his phone; beside him, Chan was angled away, shielding his messages from view.

Their eyes met. Changbin sent a silent _wtf is going on?,_ to which Seungmin just shrugged.

“You guys having fun?” Changbin asked once the credits began to roll. The others in the room flinched at his chilly tone, a few putting their phones away out of guilt.

Minho put his phone away as well, but he looked schemey rather than recalcitrant, which never bode well. “Changbinnie, Seungminnie, as much as I love this house, we’re meant to celebrate your newfound freedom for the summer, and there just isn’t that much celebrating going on over here! There’s a new club a few streets away, let’s all get dressed and go over.”

“But — ”

Minho shot poor Felix a withering glare, which shut him up at once. “To be honest, I think we’d have a celebration that’s a lot more fun if we were boozed up, what do you say?”

“But Studio Ghibli,” Felix pouted quietly. Chan pouted in sympathy, but ushered him up from the couch as Minho did the same to Jeongin and Jisung did the same to Hyunjin. Changbin and Seungmin were caught unawares and stared at each other from across the room.

“Are you guys coming or not?” Minho called, already halfway up the stairs.

Changbin raised his eyebrows at Seungmin, who shrugged once more, in a _why not_ kind of way. Why not indeed; sure, they were getting kind of old and rickety — not _that_ old and rickety, mind, as much as they complained about being on the wrong side of their twenties they were still pretty young — but they could still enjoy a night on the town, and they _deserved_ one after how crummy this semester had been.

Changbin went upstairs to find Felix and Chan raiding his closet. “I don’t think anything here is going to fit you very well, Jjiksu,” he said. “Chan-hyung, though, maybe.”

“Yeah, I’ll just go in this and wear some fun makeup,” Felix said. _“I_ don’t need to impress anyone. But don’t think I wouldn’t make your stretched shirts look good, though.”

Chan pouted. “Am I not worth impressing anymore?”

Felix paused his ransacking for a moment to place a small kiss on Chan’s pout. “You’ve seen me at my worst, baby, there’s nothing I can do to salvage my reputation.”

“Excuse me, I’m right here.”

Felix threw a white button-up shirt and a white jacket with beautiful golden embroidery around the collar and edges at him without looking at either the clothes or Changbin. “Get changed into those, and I’ll do hair and makeup. Channie, you’re in charge of accessories.”

Chan nodded affirmatively and started rummaging through Changbin’s jewelry box. Changbin sighed, resigned to his fate, and got changed under Felix’s watchful eye.

* * *

Seungmin was the last to go upstairs, trailing behind Changbin a little reluctantly. He had really wanted to just watch movies tonight, but if his friends wanted to go out, then that was fine. Besides, Minho was up to something, and he was going to find out what.

Inside his room, Hyunjin and Jisung were discussing the spilled contents of his wardrobe. Seungmin sighed and resigned himself to fixing this in the morning, probably while he was still hung over.

“Hey. Why are you guys destroying my clothes?” he asked, picking out a good set of clothes from the pile on the floor. “It’s just a night out.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jisung said cheerily. “What if you meet a guy while you’re out on the town? What if you meet _the_ guy?”

Seungmin gave him a sour look. “Nuh-uh. I’m not interested in meeting anyone right now.”

“You say that now…” Hyunjin said.

“You never know, someone might be interested in _you,”_ Jisung said pointedly. Hyunjin elbowed him in the ribs for his trouble; he whined about it as they got Seungmin ready, fixing his hair and putting some light makeup on him. “Just to make your eyes pop.”

Hyunjin got a ping on his phone. “Hey. Minho says he’s bringing Changbin over to pregame at his place a little bit; he says he’ll meet us at the club, winky face emoji, winky face emoji.”

“That’s helpful,” Jisung said. “Should we pregame, too?”

The two of them looked at Seungmin with puppy-dog eyes. Seungmin wasn’t as immune as he liked to pretend, and once they all got ready (Hyunjin borrowed one of Seungmin’s nice shirts and put some eyeliner on Jisung) he took them downstairs to crack open one (one!) bottle of beer for each of them.

“You know,” Seungmin said, toeing the line of tipsiness, “I should invite Wonil.”

“Who?” Hyunjin said, at the same time Jisung said, “Absolutely not. You’ve been complaining about him since the school year started, dude, and it’s only gotten worse since the project. You don’t want to bring him along.”

“No, I mean, think about it,” Seungmin said, tipping his bottle back to get the last little bit of alcohol. “We’re celebrating the end of the school year, right? He’s worked just as hard as the rest of us at the office, he’s allowed to let loose and celebrate a job well done.”

“Has he really worked that hard, though?” Jisung mused. “You’ve been texting me to bitch about him playing Minecraft while you do all the planning for, like, months now.”

Seungmin waved his hand in dismissal. “I might have been a bit dramatic, I mean, he did some work, too. Besides, I know it would have meant a lot to me if the older doctorate students had invited me out sometime last year. He’s been having trouble making friends at the office, and I just want to do something nice for him, you know?”

“Who even is this guy,” Hyunjin said.

“The guy I worked with on the ISLATSP,” Seungmin said.

“Oh god, you still remember that acronym. Please erase it from your mind so I may be free of it.”

“He’s just started his doctorate degree. He’s… an alright guy.”

“He’s the worst, apparently,” Jisung told Hyunjin.

“Worse than Changbin?”

“Apparently not,” Jisung said, and the two of them devolved into giggles.

What nonsense. “Alright, you two, enough,” Seungmin said. “You’re literally insane. Finish up your drinks, and let’s head out.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” Jisung said in between giggles. He swallowed the rest of his alcohol in one go, and egged Hyunjin on, who took his beer more slowly, entirely unfazed.

* * *

The club was… a bit much, to be honest. Minho had said it was a new place, and it felt like it, trying a little too hard to impress everyone. It felt like a movie set — lots of neon lights and fog machines, which weren’t really a good combination when people were genuinely drunk on the dance floor. Not exactly Changbin’s flavor.

Minho had sent Changbin off to get their drinks, saying something like _“You’re the one who’s celebrating, which means you have to fund our excursions, don’t you know,”_ which Changbin took great offense at and could probably have poked several holes into, if he had wanted to, which he didn’t. Either way, he was struggling with carrying five drinks on one tray (three colorful whatevers for Minho, Jeongin, and Felix, and two jack and cokes for himself and Chan) back to the booth they had claimed in the bar section. It was raised slightly from the dance floor and the seats scattered down there, and lit a bit better, with many railings on the stairs leading down and on the ledge overlooking the sweaty throb of people.

When he got back to their booth, Changbin found that they had been joined by the last three of their party — Jisung, Hyunjin, and of course, Seungmin.

Changbin couldn’t look away.

Seungmin was wearing a black turtleneck and black jeans, which was unfairly sexy and probably more than this club deserved. His hair had been styled away from his face, though Minho fixed a few stray hairs, and the sleeves of his shirt had been pushed up to his elbows, showing off the shock of Seungmin’s pale forearms and long, slender hands. Changbin had to set the tray of drinks down and take a long sip of his jack and coke before he was able to sit down and speak.

“Hey,” he said to Seungmin. Seungmin looked over at him, and he definitely noticed they were sitting next to each other but for some reason didn’t make a fuss. “You look… really nice.”

His lips were shiny and glittery, but Changbin couldn’t look away from his eyes. “Thanks,” Seungmin said, letting a smile slip onto his face. Was it hot in here? Probably the jacket’s fault.

“I’m supposed to get the first round, so, what did you want to drink?” Changbin asked. Technically, he directed his question at all three newcomers, though they couldn’t blame him if he only got Seungmin’s order right.

“Sex on the beach,” Jisung declared. Well, alright, it wasn’t likely that he would forget that. Hyunjin asked for a Long Island Iced Tea, and Seungmin wanted a gin and tonic. Changbin went off and ordered for them, taking a moment to catch his breath at the bar and swoon over Seungmin’s look.

_Fuck,_ he looked hot. Dammit!

A gin and tonic! Was there a sexier drink? Well, probably, but Changbin was caught in the throes of love.

When Changbin finally got back to deposit their drinks on the table, he found his jack and coke suspiciously low (rude) and a small percentage of their friends gone. He placed the gin and tonic in front of Seungmin and slid in next to him with what he hoped was a charming smile.

“Thanks,” Seungmin said again. That was twice now! Who was this person and what had they done with Seungmin?

“Of course,” Changbin said. “Where’d Chan and Felix go?”

Seungmin shrugged, gesturing with the glass to the dance floor below. “There, probably. You couldn’t pay me to go find them, hope you know.”

Changbin cringed at the thought. “No, we’ll leave them well enough alone. Who do you think is going to be the first to follow them?”

Seungmin cast a critical eye over the remaining two couples. “I think Jisung and Hyunjin. I know you’d usually say Minho and Jeongin, but they’re definitely plotting something and I know they’ll want to keep their wits about them. They can’t keep an eye on everything if they’re dancing.”

“Oh, that’s a good bet,” Changbin said. “Counterpoint: Jisung wouldn’t touch that mess with a ten foot pole.”

“Hm,” Seungmin said, and sipped his drink while contemplating the four of them giggling at each other.

“Also,” Changbin said, knocking back some of his drink, “you also definitely picked up on Minho plotting something, too?”

“He’s literally so obvious,” Seungmin said with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes. “I have… _no_ idea… what he could _possibly_ be up to.”

“Me neither,” Changbin said, slightly relieved that someone as smart as Seungmin was equally clueless. “It better not have anything to do with me; I don’t want to be meddled with if I can help it.”

“Mm.”

The two of them sat in silence for a couple minutes, their friends oblivious to the aura of awkwardness. Eventually, Jisung and Hyunjin got up to go dance; Changbin groaned, and said, “I can’t believe you were right.”

“That means I won our bet,” Seungmin said with a sly smile.

“Yeah?” Changbin said, nearly breathless at the smirk and feeling his face rise to match it. “What do you want for it? To the winner goes the spoils, right? Or however that phrase goes…”

“Hm,” Seungmin said, leaning a little bit closer. “I don’t know… I think…”

“What do you think,” Changbin asked when it became evident that Seungmin wasn’t going to finish his thought.

“I think…” Seungmin said once more, close enough that his breath ghosted over Changbin’s face. It smelled like lime and had the sharp scent of alcohol, of course. His eyes flicked around the bar, but Changbin couldn’t look away from him. “I think I want you to get me another drink,” he finally finished. “A couple shots of vodka for the two of us.”

Changbin’s heart hammered in his chest. They had been so close — it would have been nothing at all to lean forward, close the distance between them… whatever thoughts he might have had about _moving on_ were banished from his mind. He was stupid to think that anyone could replace Kim Seungmin.

He went and got them their drinks.

* * *

Seungmin watched Changbin go. Fucking dumptruck of an ass in those pants… whoever dressed him knew what they were doing.

Changbin didn’t remember their kiss — that much was obvious. A slight tinge of guilt ate at him; he should probably tell him, let come what may. They had both been drunk as hell, and Seungmin had been stupid and weak. But being that close once more… maybe it would always be this tempting. He had felt what it was like to kiss Changbin before, but he wanted to have it again, and again, and again until he had had his fill. As if he would ever be satisfied.

As Changbin disappeared into the crowd at the bar, Seungmin sat back in his seat and stared at the person who had just come in the door. He was standing around, looking awkward — it might have been his first time in a club, or maybe he was just overwhelmed. He was dressed a little awkwardly for the club, in a garishly patterned button-up tucked into white pants. Small pieces of jewelry glinted on his chest, and absent-mindedly, Seungmin fiddled with his own thin necklace in a weird type of mimicry.

Seungmin sighed, then put his hand up and called, “Wonil-ah! Over here!”

Wonil perked up at the sound of his name. His head swiveled to Seungmin, and he made his way over at once, swerving around people and tables alike. Minho squinted at Seungmin with a suspicious expression, but greeted Wonil with a careful smile when he eventually came to sit next to him in their booth. The two of them engaged in a quick, furious battle of wills as Wonil got situated.

“Hey,” Wonil said, a little out of breath. He rubbed his arms and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry I’m a little late, the guy thought my ID was fake…”

“How old are you?” Minho asked, propping up his chin and leaning forward to stare into Wonil’s eyes. “There shouldn’t be any reason why the guy thought you were a kid.”

“I’m twenty four,” Wonil said, his smile faltering. “Um, I don’t think we’ve met — ”

“Right, sorry,” Seungmin said, baring his teeth in a challenging smile at Minho. “Minho, Jeongin, this is Wonil. He helped me on the project. Wonil, this is Minho and Jeongin, two of my friends. Most everyone else is out dancing, you’ll probably meet them sometime tonight.”

“Cool. Nice to meet you,” Wonil said.

“Likewise,” Jeongin said. “I think we’re about the same age, actually; I’m twenty five.”

“I turn twenty five in June,” Wonil said. “Cool.”

“Yes, very cool.”

“So you’re also studying literature?” Minho said. “What got you into that?”

Wonil shrugged. “I don’t know, I kind of… I’ve always really liked books, and there wasn’t much anything else that interested me…”

“Oh, I see,” Minho said. “Are you trying to be a professor like Seungmin?”

“Probably just a researcher or something like that. I don’t really have an interest in teaching, but I do want to continue looking into old manuscripts; I’m actually formulating my thesis around the use of codices before the common era, you know.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Wonil-ah,” Seungmin said, cutting into what promised to be a very one-sidedly nerdy conversation. “Do you want to get a drink? Let loose a little, we’re here to celebrate.”

“Oh,” Wonil said. “Uh, sure.”

But before he could get up, Changbin returned to their table, carrying four shots. He didn’t notice Wonil at first, but as he set the glasses down on the table, his gaze flitted up to the four of them and froze on Wonil. “Oh. Hello.”

Wonil grimaced. “Um, hi.”

Changbin sent a questioning eyebrow Minho’s way, who just made a face in return. “I didn’t… expect to see you here,” he said, very awkwardly. “What’s up?”

“Oh, I just — if you didn’t think I would be here, I can go — ”

“No,” Changbin said, putting a hand on Wonil’s chest as he rose slightly out of the booth. “No, you’re fine. Just taken a little off guard. Why don’t you get an extra shot for yourself, and we can start this night off.”

Seungmin was strangely proud of the diplomatic way Changbin had handled that awkward situation, though he kept that to himself. Unluckily for him, Minho could usually see right through him, though he chose to keep his observations to himself as well.. Wonil scampered off to the bar, and Changbin slid into the spot he had recently vacated next to Seungmin.

He’d never say it, but Seungmin vastly preferred this.

Minho raised his eyebrows at Seungmin the moment Wonil was out of earshot. “So what the fuck was that?”

“That was Wonil, my partner and fellow doctorate student, as you may have gathered.”

“And why is that here?”

Seungmin told him the same things he had told Jisung, but he wasn’t _entirely_ honest, per se; there _was_ an element of meddling there, to counteract whatever Minho had planned for him. “He deserves to let loose, too. Just a friendly gesture.”

“Right,” Minho said, though he obviously wasn’t buying it. Seungmin leaned back in the booth and wondered if Minho was ever going to say anything. “Well, let’s let loose, then.”

With that, the four of them took one shot glass each, gave cheers, and knocked them back as one. The alcohol slid down Seungmin’s throat, bringing a wicked heat in its wake that settled comfortably in his stomach. He blinked back the rising shock of the vodka and grinned viciously.

Wonil came back with his own shot, and they cheered him with their empty glasses before he knocked it back. The five of them engaged in a carefully polite conversation, introducing Hyunjin and Jisung when they returned. Changbin stayed curiously quiet.

“Are you seeing anyone, Wonil-ah?” Jeongin eventually asked. Seungmin supposed this was inevitable.

“Hm? Oh, no, I’m not,” Wonil said. “Um, I suppose you and Minho-hyung are…?”

“Oh, yes,” Jeongin said. Minho pulled him closer to his side with a sly grin. “Well, do you have your eye on anyone lately?”

Wonil said nothing, but stared resolutely into his glass and slowly reddened.

“Oh my,” Minho demurred. “You’ve got to tell me. I’m the best at setting people up.”

Fucking liar; Seungmin wasn’t the only one to send a look of _“well, actually”_ to empty air.

“I…”

Seungmin stood up abruptly, sliding out of the booth. “I’m going to go dancing, actually, does anyone want to join me?”

Jeongin and Jisung got up; Hyunjin complained about his tired legs and begged off with disgusting puppy eyes that melted Jisung into a goopy puddle. Surprisingly, Wonil stood up too, flustered and red-faced and already sweaty. He probably needed an out — conversations with Minho, especially when unprepared, took a toll on people, honestly. Changbin, Hyunjin, and Minho refrained.

“Alright!” Jisung announced, taking Wonil and Jeongin’s arms and dragging them down. Seungmin followed at a more sedate pace. “Let’s go party!”

He lost the others as soon as he was swallowed by the mass of writhing bodies. With no idea what song was playing, only aware of the strange beat echoing in his skull and making his bones tremble, Seungmin lost himself to dancing.

Somehow, he found Chan and Felix. They weren’t up to anything incredibly scandalous, thank goodness, and twirled Seungmin into their orbit. They danced together for a minute, and Seungmin decided he would leave if it looked like they were going to grind on each other, or whatever it was couples did when they danced together. 

Over the music, Chan shouted close to Seungmin’s ear, “Are you having fun?”

“Yeah!” Seungmin shouted back. The music was too loud to do anything but scream at each other, and he knew his throat would be hoarse by the end of the night. “You?”

“So much,” Felix said with a huge grin as Chan nodded. No wonder; he loved to dance, this was the best place for him in the world. “Are you going to try to score?”

Seungmin made a face. That was answer enough; both Chan and Felix laughed, but for some reason continued to press.

“I know someone’s got their eye on you,” Felix continued. “You should go for it!”

“You know who I like,” Seungmin shot back, since Chan wouldn’t have been able to keep that secret for long, especially not from Felix.

“I do,” Felix said. “Go for it! Do it!”

Seungmin thought he must have misheard over the music and leaned in closer, only for Felix to repeat what he had said. Not helpful. Seungmin said as much.

“Seriously, Seungmin,” Felix said. “You have more of a chance than you think!”

“You look hot,” Chan agreed.

“Exactly,” Felix said. “Who knows what’ll happen? Live a little, Seungminnie,” he continued, leaning in close enough to say the words directly into his ear. Seungmin flinched away at the strange feeling.

He leaned back, stilling even though the music continued to blast into his eardrums. There came the sinking feeling that always accompanied his life being meddled with.

“What did you do,” Seungmin said, forgetting for a moment that Felix couldn’t hear him.

Felix made a questioning face, and shouted, “What?”

Seungmin didn’t repeat himself, instead fixing Felix with an angry look and turning on his heel. He couldn’t exactly stalk away through the crowd, though he had wanted to; instead, he squirmed between the bodies, moving not out but in.

He was looking for someone.

* * *

Changbin watched the swirling throb of people dance below them. Minho and Hyunjin were talking quietly, giving him ample opportunity to moon over Seungmin. He couldn’t see him in the crowd, but that sure as hell didn’t stop him.

He must have sighed helplessly one too many times, because Minho rolled his eyes dramatically and slid into Changbin’s line of sight. “Oh my fucking god, could you be any more pathetic?”

Changbin groaned and leaned away from Minho’s stuck-out tongue. “Oh, you shut up.”

Minho poked his hand. “What’s up with you? Are you crying over Seungmin already?”

Changbin didn’t even wonder how Minho knew. Of course he did. “I’m not.”

“He is,” Hyunjin said. Changbin shot him a withering look, though he didn’t seem too bothered.

“That’s it,” Minho said, straightening up and gathering the scraps of his dignity. “I’m tired of you two beating yourselves up over your obvious feelings for one another. Go after him, _or else.”_

Changbin cringed. “… or else what?’

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he jumped. Hyunjin sighed obnoxiously, and as he spoke, Changbin carefully removed the offending hand. “Hyung, it would be wise to never ask Minho to elaborate on his threats. You’re better off not knowing. For example — one hundred and eighty degrees for twenty minutes.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Minho said with a grin, pointing an empty shot glass at the two of them. “Enough already! Go! Go get your man, Seo Changbin! Go rush into the arms of love!”

With a sigh, Changbin slid out of the booth. Hyunjin and Minho cheered him on, and Changbin rolled his eyes at them, but in all honesty he was incredibly nervous. Even the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed didn’t give him the courage he thought it might.

He hadn’t let himself imagine confessing to Seungmin, not really. Maybe late at night when he was falling asleep, but that was more his fantasies about living together, adopting one or two dogs… he didn’t have any grand speech prepared, or really any clue of what he would say, really. Probably he would just kiss him. That would be romantic.

Changbin stood at the top of the stairs, looking over the heads of the dancers for Seungmin. He didn’t see him, but he did see Felix’s bright hair, and made a beeline for him as best he could with his stumbling steps and the ever-shifting throng. Luckily, he and Chan weren’t being naughty; they told him that they had seen Seungmin, but that he had gotten mad at something and disappeared into the crowd. Changbin frowned; he really hadn’t seen Seungmin from above, and he definitely would have if Seungmin was here… he wiggled his way to the front, where the DJ’s speakers shook the floor underneath them, but didn’t find him.

Then he checked the bar — no luck — and finally went to the bathrooms, wondering if he was pissing or something. It would have to be a long piss. Not that Changbin was thinking about — whatever.

There wasn’t a line, thank goodness, and the bathroom was relatively empty. There was someone in one of the stalls, but that was about it.

Scratch that, two someones. There were too many feet, for one; for another, they were shuffling around, conversing quietly and giggling and shushing each other for giggling. As Changbin watched, one of them sank down, their knees coming into view.

A stone landed in Changbin’s stomach. He tried twice to gather enough breath to speak; on the third try, he managed to croak out, “Seungmin?”

The movement in the stall stopped.

“Kim Seungmin,” Changbin said again. He didn’t think he could say anything else.

The person on their knees rose again, and the door to the stall opened. Seungmin and Wonil stepped out, both sheepish and flushed.

For a long, long moment, Changbin didn’t know what to say. Maybe there was nothing he could say at all.

“Hyung,” Seungmin said, his voice small.

Changbin turned on his heel and walked out. A moment later, he felt cold fingertips on his wrist; Seungmin didn’t grab him, only touched him, and followed behind without saying a word.

Changbin stopped by the table and told Minho that they were going home. Minho looked up at the two of them in confusion, but Changbin walked away before he could ask any questions. He wasn’t in the mood, and beyond that, he didn’t think he could find it within himself to say anything about what had just happened. He didn’t want to think about it at all. Lucky him that his brain wasn’t letting him.

The two of them made it out of the club into the fresh night air. Only when he made it up those stairs, Seungmin’s hand ever present on his wrist, did he realize how stale and hot the air in the club had been. He paused for a moment, and Seungmin came to stand still as well, as he breathed in the late spring night. Summer was coming up on them quickly.

Changbin only made it a couple steps away when he heard someone scramble up the stairs after them. He turned around, unimpressed, already knowing that he would see Wonil there.

The weasel was angry. Changbin had been playing at civility earlier, but this night had only made him dislike him more. His opinion of the weasel hadn’t changed: he was entitled, dispassionate, and annoying as all get out, and as he caught his breath, Changbin waited to see if the drivel coming out of his mouth would be, at the very least, interesting.

“You fucker,” Wonil said the moment he could. “You just _left_ me — ?”

“Fuck off,” Changbin said.

“You can’t just leave a guy like that, are you kidding me? That’s so — you’re so — ”

Seungmin’s hand tensed on Changbin’s wrist, so Changbin twisted his hand so that they could hold each other. “And you’re so fucking annoying,” he said. “What the hell do you want?”

Wonil looked almost perplexed at his anger. He puffed up, which was not impressive in the slightest; Changbin paid no attention to the bile pouring out of his mouth, but it was affecting Seungmin, if the hand squeezing his own was any indication. That wouldn’t do.

Wonil stepped a little closer to the two of them, and Seungmin took a step back. Changbin didn’t blame him. If someone he had been about to hook up with chased him down after it was made clear nothing was going to happen, he’d be more than a little freaked out.

Changbin slammed the heel of his foot into Wonil’s crotch. He didn’t stick around to see the pathetic aftermath, turning around as Wonil crumpled to the ground and squeezing Seungmin’s hand in reassurance.

They walked back home, hand in hand beside each other, and went to their separate beds in silence.

* * *

**Felix:** seungminnie are you awake?? :<

im sorry that what i said last night upset you, i didnt mean to

i just want u to be happy

**Seungmin:** it’s fine

dw about it

**Felix:** are u sure???

u might not want to right away, but i’m here if u want to talk

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

* * *

Seungmin set down his phone without replying. It was a few minutes to noon, the day after their night out, and though he was more than a little hung over, Seungmin felt he was doing pretty alright.

A cup of lemon honey tea sat in front of him.

He had warmed it up in the microwave, but stayed with it long enough for it to become cold again. It had been on the counter, all alone, when he had stumbled downstairs earlier that morning.

Seungmin had fucked up. He was aware of that; he’d blocked Wonil’s email and social medias as hard as he could, but that wasn’t going to do much to bridge the impossible chasm between him and the person he loved. Changbin had left him tea on the counter, but they hadn’t seen each other since they had gotten home last night.

Was it always going to be like this…?

It seemed as if they were going back to their old ways, of avoiding each other in the house they both lived in and giving and taking in equal measures. What Seungmin would give to be able to steal one of his sweatshirts and not give it back until he had to, but he thought that if he even tried to put one over his head, the delicate balance inside of him would snap and he would break down like some lovesick robot.

It wasn’t like they had broken up or anything, or as if they had even been dating, but Seungmin had betrayed Changbin in some way. That much he had gathered.

He didn’t know as much as he thought he knew. There was more to Changbin and his feelings than Seungmin had realized, and him not realizing that ate at his insides. Wasn’t he supposed to be in love with Changbin? Wasn’t he supposed to know when there was something like this happening to him? Seungmin was so bad at being in love, and even worse at being in love with his worst enemy.

They had walked home together holding hands. The memories of every touch they shared haunted Seungmin’s body — the flesh remembered it, all of it. Even if Seungmin wanted to forget, his body would still remember Changbin’s hand in his, their lips touching, all of the small moments that burned like fire on his skin.

He got up and dumped the last dregs of his cold tea into the sink.

* * *

**Minho:** changbin-ah, what happened???

i know you and seungmin left together last night but i remember it wasn’t a good vibe

is everything good???

**Changbin:** everything’s fine

i’m just.

idk

nvm

it’s fine

**Minho:** changbin??????????

what happened??? tell me

are you alright?? is anyone hurt???

**Changbin:** well i kicked wonil in the nuts but i dont care about him

**Minho:** WHAT???

**Changbin:** and idk how seungmin is feeling

tbh i don’t really know how i’m feeling either

whatever. don’t worry about it

nothing happened between us

i guess i’m just.

yeah nvm

**Minho:** changbin, you should talk to me if something’s the matter, i want to help you

but in order to help you i need to know what’s going on

**Changbin:** don’t worry about it

i’m not mad at you or anything, but rn i just need time to process things by myself, so don’t take this the wrong way but stay out of it

just for the time being

i’ll talk to you about all this when i’m ready.

* * *

They met late one night, only a few days after they had gone out to celebrate. They had rounded their corners at the same time, and stood on opposite ends of the same hallway.

Once they saw each other, they froze. Neither of them could look away. Neither of them wanted to — they were still and quiet for an unknown amount of time, each drinking in the figure at the end of the hall. It was dark, and they were in silhouette.

Seungmin took one step away, and Changbin said at once, “Wait.”

Seungmin waited.

“I missed you,” Changbin said, a confession quiet in the still night. “Where have you been?”

“I’m sorry,” Seungmin said. “I didn’t mean to avoid you, but I had to.”

“The things you say — ” Changbin began, halting and hesitating over his words. “It’s so new when I hear you say sorry and thank you, things like that; I never thought they’d be directed at me, but I’m glad they are.”

“I’ve gotten soft,” Seungmin said with a tinge of bitter regret that he didn’t truly mean. “I shouldn’t have been so mean.”

“I would always tear out page 28 of the books you bought but didn’t read. You had every right to be so mean.”

“Still.”

Seungmin took a step closer, unable to keep this distance; some tragic force guided his feet, and he hardly was able to notice. Changbin said nothing to protest the movement. He wanted it too.

“I missed you, too,” Seungmin confessed.

“I shouldn’t have tried to avoid you, but I had to,” Changbin returned. Trying to avoid Seungmin would always be in vain. It was love; it would always stick inside of you. “I didn’t want to see you, and think of…”

The two of them were silent for a moment, fading into the darkness of the night. Then Seungmin spoke the question he had been wanting to ask. “Why were you even there, Changbin?”

“I wanted to tell you that I’m — ” Changbin choked on the words, but forced himself to finish. “ — that I’m in love. I thought you should know.”

“I am, too.”

“I haven’t told — the person. I wanted to wait as long as I could until I had to bear the heartbreak. I’m weak, Seungmin… I don’t want — the person — to break my heart.”

“I am, too,” Seungmin said, quiet and gentle and understanding. “I tried to tell myself it was only for the colors, but that wouldn’t save me from the inevitable heartbreak. I couldn’t trick my love for — the person.”

“Why him?” They both knew who Changbin was talking about.

“Trying to trick myself, again,” Seungmin said. “Trying to move past it and forcing myself to move on.”

“It didn’t work.”

“No. Of course not.”

The two of them were quiet once more. Their feet had brought them closer together until they were close to meeting in the middle of the hallway, again the inevitable, tragic pull. Golden light spilled from the kitchen behind Seungmin and from the living room behind Changbin; they could just barely make out the shapes of each other’s faces, their shining eyes and hair mussed from the late hour.

“Who is it?” Seungmin asked. They were too close, and the question was too much, but it hung between them anyway. 

Changbin was silent. That was answer enough, and both of them knew it, and neither of them dared to acknowledge the answer inside of their minds.

“How long have you loved — ?”

“Too long to have gone without telling you,” Changbin said. “I should have…”

“Told me earlier, yes. But you’re telling me now.”

The mutual understanding was too much for the two of them; Changbin felt like they were two opposing magnets forced together by the knowledge. Vibrating and glowing with heat.

“Changbin,” Seungmin said, “I love you too.”

The magnet that was Changbin shivered once, delicately, and melted. The magnet that was Seungmin did the same; that was the rules, that they were equal in opposition, that what happened to one would happen to the other.

“Ah,” Changbin said, wisely.

“I kissed you,” Seungmin said. “You didn’t remember, but it was the day I realized. I want to do it again — I’ve wanted to do it again every time I’ve seen you since.”

“You…”

“Can I do it now?”

Changbin’s eyes flitted down to Seungmin’s lips. They had been looking deep into each other’s eyes, unable to look away, but as Changbin’s head tilted and his lips parted, Seungmin took gentle hold of his jaw and brought them together.

It was only a gentle press of lips, a chaste, hesitant thing that promised days and months and years of more. Seungmin’s hands trembled as he held Changbin’s face, the awe-inspiring feeling filling him from tip to toe. This is what he was meant to do — this was the reason they had been put together, this conclusion inevitable. He saw it now. They both did.

They drew apart, looking at each other once more, both backlit by golden light. Between them, around them, forever, their colors bloomed.

** THE END **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh... thank you all so much for reading!! this work is really long, i know, so i'm glad you stuck around. i really hope you had fun with this, and i wish you all the colors you can get!! <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! comments and kudos are always appreciated!! <3 <3


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